Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun
by fisico
Summary: Sequel to HP & the Burden of Becoming. Darkness looms over Hogwarts as Centaurs prepare to battle Dementors, an epic war to rival the ages. But it is not the only battle that Harry must win to save the Wizarding world.
1. Dreams in the Heat

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Prologue**

"Perfect," he sneered quietly at the mirror. "Pubescent pimples once again."

Nonetheless, this vessel would do… for now. He sniggered to himself, sensing the small spirit inside squirming, trying to fight back. He would expend less energy dominating a child, but such a form would have limitations in the real world, and he would have to be careful not to be discovered.

Anaxarete had been wise in suggesting a Horcrux. It was wiser still that the Malfoy boy recommended more than one, creating a _trinity_ of sorts – "Darkest of darks, lightest of lights," he had said. If not for the black Snitch-like stone, all would be lost. The ebon orb was charmed to release this portion of his soul should his central essence be destroyed. He must first find out how his corporeal self had been murdered… and by whom.

"Dumbledore?" he questioned uncertainly at his reflection. His mind scanned other names, other possibilities… Lucius, Bellatrix, Weasley… P-Potter. A cold shiver spread across his being just at the thought of the name.

"Damn," he cursed. He despised ignorance, especially his own.

He would wait… use this form to learn where the pieces had fallen upon his _death_. If he could find the other Horcrux, the simple piece of cloth holding the portion of his soul that was filled with the misgivings of his actions – his conscience if one could call it that – he might be able to take control of the one soul he so desperately desired to control. As much as he hated the idea, he would need both pieces to defeat the wizard he despised above all others. To accomplish that would require patience and time to gather more information. Knowledge, after all, was power… the key to unlocking the true strength of darkness.

"Hey, you comin' to breakfast, or not?"

He turned to face a boy his own age, and moved his hand to curse the child for the impudence of his tone, but then checked the movement and, instead, ground his teeth with a distinct clicking sound.

"Yesss," he hissed.

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 1 - Dreams in the Heat**

Drip.

In the silence… drip… within the warm stone walls… drip… Harry could hear every sound… drip… from every room… drip… and could not sleep… drip. The rain, which only moments earlier had roared outside the castle like the hidden waterfall of the Forbidden Forest, left only the lingering drip of water into shallow pools collected between rock and mortar. Uncovered and naked on his bed, he was still hot in the humid air as tiny beads of perspiration pimpled his entire body. He turned and laid his hand flat against the sheet next to him, wondering if she too was awake, listening to the echoing pings of dripping water and the ebb and flow of the night air's breath as it warmly wheezed down the empty corridors. He turned over on his back, brought his hands behind his head and sighed. It was their first night apart since they had left Little Whinging three weeks earlier and, tucked away into a far corner of his godfather's castle, he couldn't help but feel very much alone.

During those three weeks, try as they might to blend in with the Muggle population, word of Harry's arrival always seemed to precede them and witch and wizard alike, people he'd never seen before, would hug him in the street and kiss him on the cheeks.

The Boy Who Lived. The wizard that had defeated Voldemort once again.

Often, he would use his developing power as a Metamorphmagus to hide his true identity as they travelled together across the Mediterranean and Gabriella showed Harry all she knew of home. Barefoot, they walked the beaches of Lebanon and watched the sun plunge into the sea, flashing its myriad of colours; they travelled the stone streets where she once lived, and walked the grounds of her old wizarding school, Al Bsahri, which was being built anew. Together they visited Gabriella's grandmother, Soseh's mum, in Armenia at the base of Mount Aragats and listened for hours as she wove a fabric from tales of magic and mythology, and, slowly, Harry came to know more of the mark on his right forearm, the mark of the dragon Asha with whose family he was now forever bound.

Three weeks of joy, three weeks of careless wonder, three weeks of love -- just the two of them as Gabriella showed Harry a part of her being that was the earth itself.

Drip.

Alas, they were no longer alone. Yesterday, Soseh and Remus had journeyed together to meet them at Sirius' castle in Greece. Tomorrow, Ron and Hermione would Apparate in and the lot of them would travel together north of Hungary high into the Carpathians to see the birthplace of Asha. There Harry would face a challenge far more demanding than the Triwizard tournament. There he would _speak_ to the dragon Singehorn and ask for its blessing.

Harry rubbed his forehead where once was emblazoned a thin red lightning bolt - the mark left by his nemesis, but cleansed by the magical waters hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest. The motion was purely habit, and Harry wondered if he'd ever not press palm to forehead whenever something was bothering him. Throughout the summer, his head had been free of the burning sensation he'd felt in Voldemort's presence or when the Dark Lord was feeling emotional. He'd been freed of the splitting pain in his skull, apart from the one time it rocked him to the floor just after he'd returned to Privet Drive -- a pain he dismissively attributed to the virulence of his Uncle Vernon.

Drip.

Harry sighed and sat up, sliding his bare feet over the bed's edge. The air was warm, but he was feeling cold. Thoughts of Voldemort were crawling into his mind and he didn't know why.

"He washed away," he whispered to himself, again rubbing his forehead for no particular reason. "I saw him wash away. He's gone." But then memories of Dumbledore's words splashed cold water upon his face.

"_Perhaps, Harry… perhaps."_

The young wizard stood and began to pace the room. Soon, he didn't know when, the Centaurs would call him to help them battle the Dementors. As the great comet Ebyrth grew brighter in the night sky, marking the ever cyclical battle, Harry remained ignorant of how such a battle would take place, or where. What he did know was that he would return to Hogwarts in just over a week, and he felt certain that the time for action was near at hand.

Drip.

He stopped at the mirror and looked at the young man before him. A year ago, perhaps, he would have looked forward to battle -- a chance to prove himself a great wizard. Now, however, he had nothing more to prove and his heart had turned toward other things. Visions of a raven haired beauty with copper brown skin and ebon eyes brought a smile to his face. He turned and faced his empty bed at the far side of the room and imagined Gabriella at his side. His stomach grumbled… hunger.

"_Accio wand!_" he called.

His wand, which was resting on his nightstand, flew into his hand. No, he had nothing to prove to anyone. With hard work and lots of practice, his _gift_ was returning. Last year, Gabriella's father, thinking Harry a Muggle, cursed him with a spell to protect her at all cost. It had given him powers such as the ability to use magic without a wand, but it also made him irrational, jealous, and prone to fits of rage. Harry had nearly killed Seamus Finnigan because of it. The curse and its madness, like the scar on Harry's forehead, had vanished in the Cleansing, a Centaur sacrifice Dumbledore had called it, that burned the evil from Harry's being. All that remained was a mark on Harry's right forearm placed by Gabriella's mother, Soseh, a symbol of unity among all people, a symbol that he was both servant and master to the dragon.

"Silly worries and stupid fears," he muttered to himself. He would face his future when it stepped up to greet him, not in bed staring at the ceiling, or pacing about his room. Wondering if there might still be some shepherd's pie left in the fridge, he slipped on a gauze robe, tying it loosely about his waist. "_Lumos!_" His wand lit brightly as he made his way out his bedroom door and down the long stone corridor toward the kitchen of Sirius' castle.

Drip.

There was a slight flow of air down the corridor that sent a chill over his damp body. It was refreshing and freed his mind from the thoughts of war and darkness to focus on love and passion. He had come of age, and was seriously considering if Gabriella was _the one_. His parents had married just out of school, and the last three weeks had only strengthened Harry's resolve that soon he would ask Gabriella the question. First, he wanted to talk to Ron, and the fact that his best friend would be arriving tomorrow seemed to quicken Harry's heart. He was nearly to the kitchen, his mind firmly fixed on his last night with Gabriella, when he saw the flame, the glow, and a puff of smoke. Harry turned toward a side door and came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.

In contrast to Harry, who was wearing the plain gauze wrap falling half-way down his thigh, the blonde was wearing long, fine robes of green satin; his long hair was meticulously coifed back, and his steel eyes were bright with mischief. No remnants of the scar he bore on his face last year remained; his skin was as silken white as ever. He took a long drag on his cigarette and let out a long, slow puff of smoke that billowed toward Harry's face. Harry stood frozen stiff.

"Damn, Harry," drawled Draco with a sly smile, as he eyed Harry up and down. "Were you expecting me?" Harry's back went rigid as he clenched his wand. His eyes darted in every conceivable direction. "No, Potter" answered Draco without being asked, "I'm here alone." Draco took one more puff and flicked the cigarette into the air, only to vanish it with his wand before it started toward the ground.

"What… what are you doing here?" whispered Harry, not sure if he really trusted what Draco had just said, and still holding his wand firmly, all thought of Gabriella draining from his mind. Draco drew a step closer, his grey eyes shimmering in the light of Harry's wand.

"You had a fanatical spell over the Dark Lord," breathed Draco. "It was his ruin." He took another step closer to Harry, forcing the bespectacled wizard to pull in his wand ever so slightly. "Now, every time Father looks at his fabricant arm, I see the same crazed look in his eyes. Beyond all reason, he wants to destroy you."

"I'm done fighting wizards, Draco."

"Done? I think not. We had a deal, Harry," said Draco with a thin smile on his lips. "You gave me your word that you were in it all the way. The game's not over."

"Game? What are you talking about, Draco? There's no game. Half the wizarding world thinks you're dead, and the other half is looking for your father to complete the set."

"You're a fool, Harry, if you think that the Centaurs can win. The Dementors already have Father and the remaining Death Eaters on their side."

"But wizards aren't supposed to interfere in the affairs of—"

"_P_-_lease_, Potter," said Draco, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "When are you ever going to stop being so damn naïve? Already we've regrouped after the _loss_ of the Dark Lord, already we've made new plans, and what have you been doing, playing Snap with members of the Order?" This time Harry, his jaw set firm, stepped toward Draco, but the former Slytherin gave no ground.

"If you're so damn sure you're going to rule the world, then why are you here?" he spat under his breath. Draco let out a slight laugh, the burst of air brushing against Harry's face. The mirth and mischief that were present in Draco's eyes a moment before flickered, and faded.

"_You_ know… you know what it's like, Harry. They're dead, black shells of darkness; they almost killed me, and now I've got to be their chum? Never!" Draco hissed, and then his eyes narrowed and his face revealed a glow of pure hatred. "Father's a fool; he always has been. They'll turn on us the instant we help them defeat the Centaurs just as they turned on the Ministry, and his collection of pure-bloods won't stop them. I'm not going to have him ruin everything again." Draco cast a glance at Harry and, in that instant, could not hold Harry's gaze. Instead, he turned and leaned against the stone wall, looking down at his own two hands.

"This isn't what I am, Harry. You know that, don't you?" The question was almost a plea, but the tone was unnecessary. Harry did know. There were nuggets of goodness in the Slytherin standing before him, waiting to be mined. Perhaps, in another life…

"Come back to Hogwarts, Draco. I know Dumbledore—"

"No," said Draco abruptly. "Knowledge is power, Harry," he whispered to himself. "Together, we can—"

"Draco, if you go down that path—"

"I HAD YOUR WORD!" Draco cried out. His voice echoed down the corridor and reverberated in Harry's ears. Slowly, reluctantly, Harry nodded his head.

"Yes," Harry said, "we had an agreement. And as long as you're here to help me see that the Centaurs are victorious, well, I guess—"

"You still don't get it, do you? It's not about the Dementors and the Centaurs. You think the _darkness_ is gone? If we don't join together and—"

"Harry? Harry, is that you? Is everything okay?" It was Gabriella, calling from down the hallway; dressed in a white nightgown, she was headed their way. Draco straightened and slicked back his hair with one hand.

"You've put on weight," he said to Harry, who was looking down the hall. "It suits you better." There was a hiss and snap, and he was gone. Harry turned to see the empty wall just as Gabriella reached his side.

"That was an Apparition," she asserted with nervous confidence. "Who was here? Is everything alright?" She placed her arm around his waist and pulled him next to her as she looked up into his eyes. He could not lie to her; he would not lie to her.

"Draco," he whispered.

"Asha!" exclaimed Gabriella. "Did he try to hurt you?" She pulled her wand to the ready. Harry smiled. She would defend him to the death; he knew that with his very soul. He extinguished his wand and pulled her close in the darkness. Her hands slipped around his bare back, and whatever apprehension he had felt moments before melted away.

"There was a time," he whispered, "when I'd look into his eyes and see someone that would sooner see me dead as anything else." Harry gazed at the stone wall where Draco had stood, the smell of smoke still lingering in the air. "Now… now it's something quite different, Gabriella." Harry took in a long breath, and then exhaled. "He wants to help me win the war when it comes. _But which war? _I think, maybe, he has some sort of scheme to bring himself into the good graces of the Ministry -- a scheme to bring himself to power somehow."

"But nearly everyone thinks he's dead. How can he imagine such a thing?"

"He's a Malfoy, love," said Harry as another light appeared down the hall in the direction of Sirius' bedchamber. "Don't think he's done for, any more than his father is. What's more, he's the most sneaking and conniving Slytherin I know, next to you of course." Harry smiled and kissed her quickly before she could protest.

The light from Sirius' wand grew bright and Harry had to shield his eyes as his godfather approached.

"Are you two crazy?" he exclaimed. "Screaming loud enough to wake the dead -- which around here isn't saying much I know… bloody ghosts." He dimmed his wand and walked closer. "Harry, you're more than half naked. Do you have any idea what Gabriella's mother would say if—"

Too late. Soseh appeared from around the corner. Without saying a word, the small woman looked at Harry, and then at her daughter. For an instant, Harry thought he saw a smile, but then her face turned cold as she stepped over to Gabriella's side. Sirius' wand cast an eerie shadow across Soseh's face that distorted her features, making her look more angry than ever as she grabbed Gabriella by the ear, cursing something in Armenian. There was another snap and the two women had Disapparated.

"We weren't doing anything!" cried Harry to the air, as if maybe Mrs. Darbinyan could hear him. "Honest! I was just hungry." Sirius just laughed in disbelief.

"Hungry, eh? Come on then, Harry. Let's check if there's any shepherd's pie left; maybe there's another Mythos or two in the fridge."

"Mythos?" asked Harry.

"It's a Greek beer; bottled in Salonica. It's not bad when you're eating cold shepherd's pie and telling your godfather what the hell you're doing up in the middle of the night." His words were very matter of fact; the two men were about to have a _talk_. "And it's a damn sight better tasting than Veritaserum." For a moment, Harry thought to ask Sirius when he had tasted Veritaserum, but thoughts of Azkaban pushed the question aside.

They were about to enter the kitchen when a ghost passed through the walls just in front of them. It was a young girl with a sad face; Helena was her name. Sirius immediately lifted his wand and shot a blast at the wall, missing as the ghost passed through the other side of the hallway. Sirius cursed.

"A thousand castles in this country, and they have to pick mine to live in."

"Wasn't Helena born here?" Harry asked.

"That's not the point," growled Sirius as he made his way to the icebox and summoned out a snack and two beers. He wasn't much of a cook, but he could heat leftovers with his wand, almost as easily as he could remove bottle caps. By the time Harry was finished, Sirius had yet to take two bites. He was trying to be patient, but Harry could tell he was about to burst. Harry smiled to himself, thinking that Sirius looked better now than Harry had ever seen him, but Sirius took the look as a smirk, pushed his plate forward and looked straight at Harry.

"Well?" he asked. "If you weren't out for a midnight rendezvous with Gabriella, what were you doing? Who yelled?"

Harry looked down at his plate and then brought his eyes up to meet Sirius'. Here sat the man who had offered his life to protect Harry's in more ways than imaginable and who, like Remus Lupin, bore a spark that was the essence of Harry's father and mother. There was nothing that Harry would not share with Sirius, and there was nothing that Sirius would not do to ensure Harry's safety.

"Draco dropped by to call in a debt I still owed him."

"Draco Malfoy? That's not possible," Sirius asserted. "I charmed the castle myself and there's no way anyone passes the barrier unless… unless you consider Draco a _friend_." The statement turned into a question as Sirius drew closer to the table, staring intently at Harry's eyes.

"I'm in his debt," Harry answered, trying to avoid the real question.

"You made a wager?" Sirius asked.

"He and I had an agreement to secretly share information in an effort to bring down Voldemort." Harry didn't need to wait to see the reaction on Sirius' face. The veins bulged out on his neck instantly.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous—"

"Voldemort's dead isn't he?" Harry interrupted with a confidence he would not have had the year before. "And you're sitting here drinking beer and eating shepherd's pie with me. A year ago, if I had made that prediction, they'd have sent me to sit with Gilderoy Lockhart at St. Mungo's for evaluation." Harry's mind faded back to his confrontation with Voldemort in the Ministry's Death Chamber.

"If it hadn't been for Draco, Ron would certainly be dead. Hell, we might all be dead."

A glint of ghost passed through the corner of the kitchen on its way to the upper stories of the castle, but Sirius paid it no heed. Instead, he pushed his plate aside and clasped his hands together on the table.

"What does he want?"

"They're regrouping, the old Death Eaters. They're going to join the Dementors to destroy the Centaurs in the upcoming battle. Draco wants to stop it, and he's willing to betray his father to do it. But it has to be kept secret; no one can know he has anything to do with it."

"We've got to tell Dumble—"

"We can't," Harry interjected. The two wizards held each other's gaze. "I gave my word."

Harry expected a lecture at this point, and he was ready to argue against whatever Sirius had to say until the sun rose, but none came. Instead, Sirius nodded his head, took a last swig of beer, pulled the plate of shepherd's pie in front of him and began to eat. About halfway through the dish, Sirius finally lifted his head up to look at Harry.

"I think Remus fancies Soseh; what do you think?" asked Sirius with a devilish twinkle in his eye. "An odd twist if he becomes your father-in-law, don't you think?"

"Fancies Soseh?" asked Harry incredulously. He knew they liked each other, but the possibility that their feelings ran deeper had never really entered Harry's mind. "How can you tell?

"He's acting just like James did around your mother, always trying to impress her at every turn. Did you see him after dinner tonight, when he offered to clean the dishes? I thought I'd never stop laughing after he broke the fourth plate. Canines just aren't meant for housework."

Harry looked around the kitchen and decided not to make a comment. Soseh had been kind enough to clean in here, but the rest of the castle was still pretty much a disaster since Sirius had sworn off house elves.

"Well," yawned Harry, stretching his arms about his head. "I think I'm going to head off to bed." Sirius nodded, flicked his wand and levitated the plates into the sink. They could wait until tomorrow to be cleaned.

"Harry, with Ron and Hermione arriving in the morning, this is probably the last chance we'll have to be alone together. What you've told me tonight, I won't share, but don't think for a moment that no one else knows, particularly Dumbledore." Sirius then leaned forward in his chair. "The day will come, when Draco asks you to do something you know is wrong; you know he will, Harry, and when he does, please talk to me first, okay?" Harry nodded. "I'm serious, boy; don't be rash. If you think you see two moves ahead, wait until you see four more. There's a reason they call them Death Eaters, and wiping the likes of you from the wizarding world is top priority on their list. Be careful; be deadly careful."

"I will, Sirius. I swear."

Together they walked halfway down the hallway, and then Sirius turned toward his own room. Harry watched as his godfather disappeared into the darkness, cursed, and then shot a blast of light at a passing ghost.

Drip.

When Harry put head to pillow, he had an overwhelming urge to use Occlumency. With Voldemort gone, he hadn't cleared his mind all summer; there was no need. Despite the heat, a cold shiver ran down his spine. All the evening's conversations had his thoughts swirling and, with no Pensieve, Harry chose to clear his mind as best he knew how. Thoughts of war and dragons would wait until tomorrow.

He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled. Drip. As he had done all summer long, he tapped the spot where Greg Goyle had skewered his chest with a Quidditch broom, and said a short prayer for the souls of his lost friends. Slowly, he let all thought of the day's events leave his mind. Voldemort swirled away into a cloud of nothingness, the Centaur and Dementor wars evaporated, concern over what Soseh would say in the morning vanished. Drip. Finally, he was aslee— there was a snap, sharp and short.

"AND I DON'T CARE IF I NEVER SEE YOUR RAT LOVING FACE AGAIN!" Something… someone stomped on the stone floor. "Never… ever…," the voice got weaker, "…ever." A lit wand in her hand, Hermione Granger crumpled to the ground and began heaving deep sobs into the sleeves of her dark red robes. Harry, who had half reached for his glasses, and half dove for his wand, also found himself in a heap on the stone floor, thankful that his sheet came with him.

"H-Hermione?" he asked groggily, smarting from having banged his knee on the stone floor. A small splotch of blood began to spread against the white sheet. His eyes focused on his friend, folded in two in the centre of the room. As she continued to cry, her hands covered her face, and her bushy brown hair covered her hands. "Hermione, what's wrong? Where's Ron?"

Drip.

Hermione turned to see Harry on the floor, blood staining the sheet and concern filled her face. At once she went over to offer Harry her assistance and reached to remove the sheet so that she could have a closer look at his knee. But the sheet was the only thing clothing Harry, and he held it fast.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "If I'm not mistaken, you're early. Where's Ron?" he asked again. The name flushed her face scarlet.

"That foul mouthed ferret farmer can eat Blast-ended Skrewts for all I care!" She was about to cry again and stopped herself. "Socks! Can you believe it, Harry? He wanted to bring more socks!"

"And that's bad because…?" Harry asked, still not quite able to focus thanks to his throbbing knee and his overwhelming lack of sleep.

"It meant a bigger pack, of course," Hermione answered in a tone that reminded Harry a bit of Mrs. Weasley mixed in with… well, Hermione. "He can barely Apparate as it is; the last thing he needed to do was to increase his load by carrying more socks."

"So you insulted his wizardry, by telling him he didn't know how to Apparate?" Harry asked, pricking the point of the argument with his question. Hermione raised her finger to argue, turned the thought over in her mind, and burst out crying again.

"Oh, Harry!" she bawled, and lunged at him wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, wrenching the sheet away with her foot, and burying her tear-strewn face in his neck. Suddenly the room filled with light and, for a moment, Harry panicked, thinking that it might be Ron. If only it _had_ been the redhead.

"Harry?" came a familiar voice from the door. Trying to quickly cover himself with a bit of Hermione's red robe, he turned to see Gabriella, flanked by Sirius, Remus and Soseh. All of them had their wands at the ready, but none was more ready to put wand to use than Gabriella herself.

Drip.


	2. Friends in the Dark

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 2 - Friends in the Dark**

The soaked sod stuck to the bottom of Harry's boots as he strode over to the stables, and each step from the castle became more laborious than the one before. The air was warm and moist as bits of blue sky sprouted between the clouds. Still, even wearing full wizard's robes, visions of dragons swirling in his head, Harry felt cold. About halfway across the field, he grabbed a stick and began to scrape his boots, and then realized that he was of age and could use his wand. A small smile creased his lips and he dropped the branch of olive in favour of his own holly and _Scourgified_ his soles. It was the first smile to cross Harry's face all morning.

He looked at the stables knowing that Sirius had told him to hurry, but he was not eager to take further steps. Instead, he took in another deep breath of fresh air, cleansed by the night's rain, and watched as the sun peaked out from between the clouds above. The skies were still threatening rain and, unlike his Caduceus, Hippogriffs did not have spells to keep you warm and dry. He looked back at the stables to where the four Hippogriffs waited to carry them on their journey north. Last night before dinner, Harry had been thrilled to see that Buckbeak and Sirius had been reunited. Together, Harry and his godfather had flown around the castle grounds, Harry flying on the back of Frayfeather. As the sun dipped from view and the stars began to sprinkle the sky, they snuck a splash along the ocean's shore; it was wonderful being with Sirius again. How had things gotten so complicated so quickly? Harry sighed again and started once more across the field, his feet squishing in the mud.

When he arrived at the stables, he was surprised to find Gabriella alone. She was wrapping a small leather harness around Buckbeak's neck to make the flight north feel safer; the other three Hippogriffs had been similarly strapped. She looked up at him for the briefest of moments, and then continued to fasten the harness without saying a word. There were so many things he wanted to say. He'd tried to speak to her last night, but couldn't put three words together before she Disapparated in a rage. Harry took a step forward. He was of age. He was brave enough to face Voldemort and his Death Eaters. In a few hours, he would stand face-to-face with a dragon. He could do this; he could set things straight right now. He took another step forward, and cleared his throat.

"I… erm…. Where's Sirius?" he asked weakly, his posture falling somewhat.

"Looking for you," Gabriella said curtly without looking at Harry.

"I just came from the castle," said Harry, "and I didn't see him." Harry didn't know why his words were sharp, but they were.

"Are you calling me a liar?" she asked coolly, again not looking in his direction.

"I'm not calling you anything! All I'm saying is that I just came from the castle and I didn't see Sirius."

"Then your Apparitions passed each other!" she snapped. The tone didn't please Buckbeak and he reared away from her, twisting her finger awkwardly in the leather strap.

"Ayyy!" she yelled, grabbing her right hand with her left. Harry was at her side in an instant.

"Here, let me see if—"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of my own injuries, thank you very much!" She jerked her arm away from Harry's touch and walked toward the corner. Whispering something in Armenian, she healed the finger and then turned toward Buckbeak bowing low.

"You're not going near him again," said Harry. "It's too dangerous." She turned to look at Harry and fire raged in her eyes. She strode away from Buckbeak and toward him like a freight train, and Harry began to back away.

"Danger?" she spat. "You want to know about DANGER!" She was on him like a lioness. A poke in the arm, a slap to the chest, a swipe across his legs that brought him to the floor. Harry did not resist as her heel pressed against his sternum. "I could crush you!" she yelled.

"SOCKS, GABRIELLA! HE WANTED MORE SOCKS!"

"It was bad enough I had to listen to such a ridiculous story last night! Was it really Draco you were meeting with in the corridor? Or her?" Gabriella's heel pressed harder. "And now with Ron gone, Hermione has to fly with _you_ to the Carpathians! How convenient!"

"I told you that Sirius could—"

"NO! We must take all four Hippogriffs; I will ride alone and so will Sirius, and while we fly for hours in the cold you and Hermione can decide where your loyalties lie. I can only imagine what Ron would say. If he doesn't kill you, his brothers probably will." She lifted her foot and went back to attend to Buckbeak. Harry sat up on the straw covered floor.

"You're not being rational. If I could just explain, you'd see that—"

The room filled with snaps and pops. Soseh who could not Apparate on her own was holding Remus' hand as they appeared near the entrance to the stables. Hermione stood a few feet behind Sirius and everyone had their pack, everyone, that is, except Harry who had left his in the castle after his earlier argument with Gabriella. Remus and Soseh walked over to the largest of the four Hippogriffs, Flameclaw, so named because of her brilliant red talons.

"Harry, you're a mess!" cried Sirius, and he was right. Harry was coated in mud and straw. "What were you trying to do, make adobe bricks?" Harry stood, slapping the muck from his robes. "Here," said Sirius in exasperation, and he pulled his wand cleaning the younger wizard's clothes. "Where's your pack? We've got to get there before dark."

"Well, I er…" Harry sputtered.

"I'll get it," said Hermione. There was a sharp snap and she was gone.

"Look Harry," said Sirius in a low voice, "it was your idea to fly, and there's no way I can get a Portkey ready now. Are you sure you want to go through with this? I don't care what sort of future Soseh sees for you; if you want to change your mind, do it. You've already faced dragons before; you have nothing to prove."

Yes, it was Harry's idea to fly, but that's when he thought he'd be soaring over the Aegean Sea with Gabriella. He was going to face the fire of the dragon, and his second thoughts were having triplets. He pulled back his right sleeve and looked down at the mark on his forearm – a dragon born of the four houses of Hogwarts. Soseh had said it was Harry's vision of unity that made the moment possible, a vision that would spread to all the magical creatures of the earth.

"Maybe… maybe you're right Sirius," Harry whispered. He lifted his eyes and was surprised to see Gabriella looking back at him, her own eyes wide with concern. She glanced over to Soseh, who was also looking at Harry, but her face was as placid and pleasant as ever. He was used to being stared at, but suddenly he was feeling quite uncomfortable. "Excuse me," he whispered weakly. He pulled his wand and Apparated back to his room in the castle.

He was pacing about, trying to gather himself when the ghost, Helena, appeared through a wall. She hovered for a moment and then took notice of something she hadn't seen before. Looking intently at Harry, or through Harry, she turned to face him.

"You have died," she said in Greek. "A part of you still tarries in our plane." She smiled and floated closer to Harry, who sat down on his bed. For a ghost, she was elegantly dressed – almost royal in stature. "I thought I sensed a new presence, but there are so many here now. Who brought you back from the brink?"

"Albus Dumbledore," answered Harry, his mind still wondering why he had ever wanted to be joined with a family of dragons. _Insanity_, he thought. _Besides, what does she care now, anyway?_ But then, was he really doing all this just for Gabriella?

"I have heard of him," Helena said with greater excitement in her voice. "He's Headmaster now at Hogwarts… a great wizard."

"Yeah," said Harry, rubbing his right forearm. _Unity? Bah! I should just have this thing removed. Maybe Fred and George can—_

"Harry," Helena whispered to herself. "Harry Potter?" she asked with excitement. Harry just rolled his eyes and nodded. "I have waited millennia to touch, once again, the hand of a mortal." She reached out. "May I take yours?"

"You're a ghost," Harry said dismissively. "You can't hold my hand any more than I can hold yours." He held out his palm in a gesture to demonstrate. Helena reached out and held it fast. The touch was cold, a sensation Harry had felt many times with ghosts, but he could also sense that her hands were soft and it was this sensation that caused him to jerk his hand away.

"That's not possible!" he asserted, holding his hand as if he had just been bitten. Helena floated closer and sat at Harry's side. She patted his leg and rested her hand on his thigh. For the first time since his first year at Hogwarts, Harry found himself frightened of a ghost.

"Don't be afraid, my child," she whispered. There was something calming about her voice, something compelling in her beauty, and Harry sat fast. "Your crossing to our realm will certainly become legend one day. I have roamed the world since I was laid to rest at Therapne, and I know no souls that have returned from such depths without resorting to the Dark Arts. The ethereal hue rests upon your brow." She touched his forehead, only this time the touch was warm, comforting. "Hmm, you carry a burden with you. Does it concern your visit with Singehorn?" Harry nodded.

"I'm not going," Harry said flatly. Helena floated up and stood before Harry. She appeared more radiant than ever, and Harry wondered why he hadn't noticed her beauty earlier.

"Are you afraid?" she asked.

"No!" said Harry emphatically. "I… she… if she…" and then he let out a long drawn out breath, dropping his head.

"Ah!" Helena smiled. "The girl." She floated down to one knee and lifted Harry's chin. "Listen, Harry. I know quite a bit about what lengths men will go to for the love of a woman. Such motives are never as noble as they first appear." The mist that was her eyes glowed bright with mischief. "From what I've heard, your waters run deeper than that, Harry. If not, the mark on your arm would have faded to nothingness." She chuckled to herself. "If not, you will certainly be turned to ash when you face the dragon lord, Singehorn." She floated back towards the closed door. "That's assuming of course, you're still going?" she questioned, already knowing the answer. "Your affairs have yet to be settled." Her face bore a small smile, but was tainted with sadness. It took some moments before Harry responded.

"The darkness isn't gone yet, is it?" he asked, but she did not answer. Instead she bowed her head and started toward the door.

Harry wasn't sure if she spoke or if he simply knew her thoughts when he heard, "_If ever you are in need, Harry, simply call. One of us is always near, and don't forget… you are one of us._" She faded through the door just as Hermione walked through coming from the other way.

Hermione let out a short shriek. "Yikes! I hate it when that happens," she muttered to herself. She rubbed her shoulders trying to warm herself from the chilling sensation, and was gazing about the room looking for Harry's pack when she saw him sitting on the side of his bed.

"Harry?" she asked. "Why aren't you at the stables? I said I'd get your pack; I thought it was in the kitchen, but no luck." She spotted it at the foot of Harry's bed. "Ah! There you go." She reached down, picked it up, and offered it to Harry. For a moment, he hesitated and then finally took it into his own hands.

"Thanks," he said dully, and Hermione recognized his mood at once.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Hermione said. "I've made a mess out of everything. Maybe it's best if you just don't go through with it. Come back to Hogwarts and forget this whole thing ever happened."

"I can't go back, Hermione. I have to go through with it."

"Why?" replied Hermione. "To impress Gabriella? That's hardly a reason to risk your life, Harry."

"Draco was here last night," said Harry as he stood, taking in a breath of resolve. "The Death Eaters are regrouping, while we're still celebrating Voldemort's death. I have to do everything I can to finish what we started last year. The Centaurs and most of the giants are with us; we may need the dragons too."

"Ron told Charlie what you intend to do, Harry. He says it's suicide. There's no such thing as a tame dragon."

"And is there such a thing as a tame wizard, Hermione?" Harry asked. "Come on, it's time we go. And don't worry about last night. I'll work things out with Gabriella… somehow."

When the two Apparated back to the stables they found everyone else ready to go.

"Well," said Sirius impatiently, "that took longer than it should have." Harry looked at Gabriella wondering what she was thinking seeing Harry and Hermione arrive together so late, but her expression hid all emotion.

"It took just as long as it should have," Soseh said with a calming tone. "Come, let us be on our way."

Soon they were out over the Aegean Sea and turning northward toward the Carpathians. Remus rode with Soseh, Harry flew with Hermione, and Sirius and Gabriella each flew alone. The Hippogriffs flew swift and strong, and the rushing wind made it nearly impossible for anyone to speak. The rhythmic swoosh-swoosh-swoosh of the animals' wings was almost hypnotic. Harry dozed often and, at one point, Hermione had to wake him as Sirius began to dive toward the Osam River in Bulgaria. The Hippogriffs lit without difficulty, and Harry noticed that the sky was darkening – it would rain soon.

"We'll let them rest here for a while and then be on our way," said Sirius. There was no comment of hurry from his mouth, but one could tell from the edge in his voice that something was bothering him, and Harry preferred the more vocal Sirius to the silent, brooding one. Frayfeather took a deep drink from the water's edge as Harry stroked the creature's neck. In a flash, the Hippogriff snapped at the water and pulled out a large fish, swallowing it with one gulp. The motion splashed water over the lower half of Harry's robes. He was about to curse when he checked his emotions and slowly stepped away.

"Unbelievable," he hissed under his breath.

"Here, allow me," offered Remus as he pulled his wand.

"I can do it myself!" Harry snapped, immediately regretting the tone as he pulled his own wand.

"I never doubted you could, Harry," Remus answered calmly. "It's just easier for someone else to reach the back, that's all."

"Yes, of course," said Harry. "I'm sorry."

"We're all a bit edgy," replied Remus as he scanned the tree-line surrounding them and then dried Harry's robes. "We'll all feel much better once this whole thing is over."

"Assuming he survives, eh, Remus?" said Sirius with a tone Harry wasn't sure was humour.

"True," answered Remus. "I suspect we'll feel much worse if you're fried alive. You do have your affairs in order, don't you, Harry?" At that, Harry chuckled grimly to himself, at least a little.

The owl from the Ministry had arrived promptly on the morning of his seventeenth birthday. The properties belonging to his parents had officially been released into his name. Their fortune, which he had always had access to in small quantities, could now be spent at will. Also with the letter had come an assignment of inheritance form should Harry die. Who should he leave his estate to? He had no family to speak of. He had thought of Sirius, but the wizard had all he would ever need. He had thought of Dudley and realized he'd never be able to spend Galleons or fly brooms. Instead, he had scribbled the name of his best friend, and sent the paperwork back.

"And he won't even be there to watch me die," said Harry darkly, standing at the river's edge. "I would have thought… Oh, well." Harry skipped a stone across the water, turned and walked back to Frayfeather.

"We can turn back at any time, Harry," said Soseh. "The choice is yours."

"Hermione, let's go," Harry called out. "We won't make it there by nightfall if we keep dallying."

Harry was right; they did not arrive before the setting sun, although they never saw the sun sink in the evening sky because the air was too thick with rain. Indeed, they could barely see each other, let alone the ground, when Soseh called for everyone's attention.

"THERE!" she cried, pointing her finger toward the earth below. Flameclaw dropped her head and plummeted as the others followed. The rain began to ease, allowing Harry to see smoke rising from the chimneys of a nearby town, but they passed that town and flew into a dense forest about a mile away. The canopy of the forest swallowed them whole, and they found themselves in utter darkness; nearly everyone lit their wands simultaneously, save for Soseh, who carried none. The combination of tiny lights fought back against the darkness, revealing a thick, green undergrowth.

"It's a Confundus charm," said Remus raising his wand. "These trees aren't really here. _Aspicio!_" he cried out, and the trees in this portion of the forest slowly receded away like a lifting fog, revealing a stone road and then old wooden and brick buildings. "The village was here long before Chata Zverovka to the south, and the locals chose not to move when the Muggles arrived."

They were at the edge of a small village about half the size of Hogsmeade. Gas lamps lit the cobblestone streets, and their teasing glow left Harry wanting more. The rain stopped and, leaving his wand stashed away, he pulled off his glasses and dried them with a wave of his hand. Still, he was unable to see into the many darkened corners. Not a soul walked the streets, and the air was dead and silent, save for the heavy breathing of the Hippogriffs.

"Bogden should be here," said Soseh quietly, her voice tinged with concern.

"Perhaps he went in as it grew dark," offered Remus.

"No," answered Soseh, looking about and cautiously stepping from one spot to another like a bloodhound sniffing out its quarry. "No," she said again, only this time with more urgency. She began moving swiftly away from the village and toward an opening in the trees. Walking without a wand, she would have been swallowed by the darkness if Gabriella and Remus hadn't followed quickly behind.

"I don't like this, Harry," said Hermione, taking hold of his arm.

"It's my fault," whispered Harry. "We should have been here over an hour ago."

"Stop it," Sirius snapped, "and pay attention. Keep your wands ready… follow me." He started after the dim glow ahead, and Harry and Hermione followed. As they pushed through the wet branches Sirius added in a whisper, "We were never meant to leave on time, Harry. It was the damn rain." Harry was about to ask what he meant by that, when they came upon the three in the lead. They were standing in a circle, if you could call it that, looking down at something on the ground. Hermione was first to join them.

"What is it?" she asked. "Have you found—" She let out something between a shriek and a scream, and wrapped her hand across her mouth gripping her wand tightly. She had just given away their location within the trees.

Harry steeled himself for what he was about to see, but when he and Sirius joined the others he worked hard to suppress the scream wanting to escape from his own lungs. Bathed beneath the white light of their wands, an alabaster face wore a masque fixed with horror. His eyes were wide, his mouth open in a scream, his arms thrust forward and his fingers extended as if still trying to push the attacker away. His throat, however, was gone. It had been completely ripped away, revealing his spine from his jaw down to his broken collarbones. It was as if a great beast had taken a single enormous bite, but there was no blood. Not a single drop stained his light blue shirt, and no blood had spilt to the forest floor. Harry began to kneel to take a closer look.

"What could have—"

"Vampires," Hermione whispered.

"Yes," Soseh affirmed. "He was a dear friend, and knew these woods and their inhabitants better than any. I don't understand why he would be a victim."

Remus reached down and pulled Harry to his feet. "Vampires don't leave kill behind for anyone to see," he said briskly. "We've interrupted the demon and he's likely near. We must go."

"We must bring Bogden back to the village," demanded Soseh. "His family must know."

Harry's heart was pounding and he began to hear strange noises in the trees; he wondered if his imagination was getting the better of him.

"It wasn't a blood kill," said Sirius drawing close to Harry and bringing his left arm around the younger wizard's shoulder. "It was an execution."

"They know we're here," said Hermione.

"_Draco_," Harry whispered.

Quickly, Remus levitated Bogden's body and they began to briskly step toward the village, like a large scrum moving through the trees and undergrowth. "Stay close," he whispered.

There was a loud fluttering sound above followed by the breaking of branches some ten yards into the darkness. Harry was certain he saw a flash of white eyes reflect back the glow of wandlight. There was another great beating of wings. Was it the nearby Hippogriffs, or something much more terrifying? They were nearly back to where they started, but the Hippogriffs were nowhere to be seen. Harry turned his eyes toward the sky, but only saw darkness.

"They are upon us," spoke Soseh as calmly as if she were describing the weather. No sooner had the words left her mouth than an enormous figure cloaked in black robes appeared from above, grabbed Soseh from behind, and disappeared with her back into the darkness above.

"MAMA!" Gabriella cried out, but it was too late.

A great swooshing filled the air and Sirius yelled for everyone to run toward the village, and everyone did -- everyone that is but Gabriella. Harry didn't notice until he was only a few feet from safety. He turned to see her still standing there, calling for her mum. The clouds above burst open in a great torrent of rain.

"Gabriella!" he screamed, and ran back toward her.

"Harry! NO!" yelled Remus, but Harry didn't listen; he kept running.

He was thirty feet away, twenty feet away, and then it appeared above her head like a dark billowing cloud ready to spit lightning. Only it was Harry that spat the first bolt.

"_Stupefy!_" he commanded, sending an enormous bolt of red light straight into the dark bundle. There was a tremendous screech that filled the air with a horrible noise, and Harry's hearing harkened back to the Mandrakes from his second year that caused Neville to faint. The creature landed in a heap against the base of the tree just as Harry grabbed Gabriella in his arms.

"Are you alright?" he asked. She was trembling, oblivious to his presence and pulling away from him to enter the wood in search of her mother. "She's gone, Gabriella."

"No she's not!" Gabriella yelled back.

The sky filled with flashes of red, and Harry looked back toward the village. Six vampires were descending upon Remus, Sirius and Hermione. The three of them had followed Harry back toward the forest, and were now caught in a tremendous fire fight. For a moment, he found himself watching as Hermione cast spell after spell knocking two to the ground. Still, the three were being pushed back past a stone wall and into the dense foliage. Then he saw the two that Hermione had dropped to the ground rise again and join the other vampires into the darkness as the trees glowed bright with the explosion of wand power. How could they recover so quickly?

"Quick we need to—"

It was too late. The vampire that Harry had stunned, like its brethren, had risen. It grabbed Harry by the shoulders and, with a great thrust of its wings, pulled him skyward. Gabriella turned in time to grab him by the waist, but the creature lifted her as well, the beating of its wings swooshing through the air.

"Potter," he heard the creature hiss from behind, its rotten breath warm against the side of Harry's face, "the stone is ours. Tell me where it is and you may—"

Another screech filled the air, but it was a sound Harry knew well, a friendly sound. Frayfeather appeared from high on the left just as the vampire carried Harry above the canopy of the trees, and then Buckbeak joined him from the right. They were fast and they were vicious as they struck at the vampire's back. Harry felt Gabriella loosen her grip, and he dropped his wand so that he could hold her fast with both hands.

"Fool!" she yelled at him. "_Arripio!"_ she called, casting a gripping charm that held her fast to Harry.

"I would have thought you'd thank me!" he yelled back. The vampire was cursing in Harry's ear as the Hippogriffs continued to claw at its back. The three were starting to lose altitude and began to sink back into the trees.

When they fell to the forest floor Harry heard a snap as Gabriella released the gripping charm and dropped to her feet. Her kick was swift and true striking the vampire squarely on the side. It was enough to make it let go of Harry, but no more. An instant later, the creature had thrown Gabriella backward thirty feet through the air and held Harry by the neck. It was his first chance to see its face.

He had seen drawings of vampires in the blood state and always thought they were embellished to illicit fear in the students. If anything, this creature was far more horrifying. Its two eyes were white, streaked with slits of red, but beyond the two eyes its resemblance to humanity vanished. There was nothing that could be called a nose. Instead, the face was a marbled mass of flesh designed for stretching when the creature opened its enormous mouth. Holding Harry fast in its arms, water dripping down its face, the vampire smiled to reveal long rows of ragged teeth that grew progressively larger as they came to the fore, both top and bottom ending in one large fang, the pair resembling a great pincer that would have easily fit around Harry's thigh. The stench was almost too much to bear.

"Where is the stone?" the vampire asked again, from where, Harry could not tell.

"Go to hell!" Harry spat in its face. The vampire simply laughed a great rolling laugh.

"You'll join me there soon enough!" it sneered, and the great jaws began to open wide and reach around Harry's neck.

He was about to cast a spell without his wand when there was a swift, single swoosh, a _thwump_, and the creature stopped cold. Still holding fast to Harry's robes, it pulled away and the wizard saw a tremendous look of surprise in the creature's eyes. Finally, it released Harry and stepped back revealing its reason for concern. In its chest was an arrow that had certainly pierced the vampire's heart.

"Centaur?" Harry asked to the darkness, trying to look about in the rain and seeing nothing.

Cloaked in darkness, the vampire fell to the ground flailing at the arrow, but unable to pull it free. At last, the thrashing stopped and Harry walked over to the vampire's side, ready to cast a stunning spell with his hand if need be. But the vampire was gone. On the ground laid a man, not much older than Harry, and certainly no bigger. He had dark hair and clear brown eyes that gazed forward to the sky. He seemed ridiculously dwarfed by the large black cloak surrounding him.

"Thank you," he breathed without looking at Harry. Wincing in pain, the man heaved in one great breath; his eyes fell on Harry's. "He calls again," he whispered, and then vanished in a pulse of light and smoke. Harry placed his hand on the empty robes to convince his mind of what his eyes were seeing. Then he rose quickly and ran to Gabriella's side.

"Accio wand!" he called out, retrieving his wand from the forest and lighting their way back down toward the village. They were just passing a small shed not much bigger than an outdoor privy, when two more dark figures appeared in the sky above. "Not again," Harry moaned.

Suddenly, the sky was filled with arrows. The door of the shed opened and the head of a stooped, old man poked out.

"Quick, in here!" he whispered as loudly as he dared. Gabriella and Harry darted into the shed, but when they entered, they found it enormous inside, reminding Harry of the tents at the World Cup. There was a small kitchen at the far end of the flat with something boiling on the stove. To the side was a space for a single bed and a chest of drawers. They stood in what would be called the living room, with a couch, two stuffed chairs, and coffee table in its centre.

"Put her over on the bed," the old man said urgently as he locked the door behind them using his wand. Harry obliged and then reached down and touched Gabriella's forehead.

"It's my ribs," she said with a grimace. "They're broken."

Harry knelt low next to her and closed his eyes.

"You can't use it on me," she whispered.

"I don't need to use it for broken ribs," he answered, and then he bathed her side in a splash of blue light from his wand. "What do you think I am, a fool?" He tried to smile, but his mind was filled with concern for the others.

Her ribs quickly healed, and when they did she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Then, unexpectedly, she rapidly gripped Harry by his soaked robes and slowly pulled him close. He was expecting a kiss, but instead she whispered in his ear.

"Harry, the old man standing by the door… he's a vampire."


	3. A Tutor Denied

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 3 - A Tutor Denied**

The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and the pounding of Harry's heart. You could smell hints of pipe tobacco mixing with the herbs and spices emanating from the dinner being prepared on the stove. The old man shuffled over and began to stir the small pot, then he tapped it with his wand and it tripled in size. He wasn't much to look at; his frame was thin and frail, his posture was stooped, and the wand in his hand trembled as he stirred the oversized pot. How could this wisp of a man be a vampire?

"I suspect you're all hungry," he said with a thick accent and a deep scratchy voice. His wrinkled skin was an earthen brown and his hair white. "I must say, I am not much of a cook."

Gabriella squeezed Harry's arm as her other hand slipped down to her wand. Harry wasn't surprised; he was reaching for his own wand. All summer, their thoughts had often mixed together without the two saying a word. It wasn't mind reading, but it was more than mere intuition. They would fire together. In unison, they jumped to their feet and thrust out their wands.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ they cried together. Orange-yellow beams erupted from their wands. The old wizard, or vampire, or whatever he was, caught a glimpse of the light heading his way. Harry was sure that they had him when the shuffling old man flicked his wand with the most subtle of wrist movements.

"_Áreddotu_," he whispered.

By the time Harry's mind processed back to the Defence Against the Dark Arts class he had when Snape was substituting last year, it was too late. The spells were reflected back upon the casters, and both Harry and Gabriella went rigid and fell to the floor like nine pins. Harry fell facing the old man as he returned to the pot and continued to stir as if nothing had happened. Suddenly, his stooped figure became more erect; his white hair turned grey and then black. He was now clearly taller than Harry and the age that had racked his body a moment earlier was wiped from his face. Somehow, from somewhere, Harry knew this man.

"I should drain you now for killing Bogden," the man whispered, still stirring the pot. His head snapped up and he looked to the side of the room, to a place Harry couldn't see. "Yes, I know," he answered apologetically, as if answering someone who wasn't there, "for Antreas." The man then slipped his wand away and stood, fully facing Harry and Gabriella in the light. He was quite tall and looked, perhaps, forty years old.

"It hardly seems possible," he said, his gravelly voice scraping like a tin can across bare pavement. He poked Harry with his foot and turned once more to the spot Harry couldn't see. "It can't be done," he said waving his hand in the air dismissively. "He's too young. I won't—" He stopped, as if interrupted by his own thoughts. A smile spread across his face, but Harry could see no fangs.

"Marek has the other three," he said. There was another pause, and then a sigh. "Yes, that is good news, very good news, indeed." There was a long period of silence; finally he said, "Very well, but if I release them they'll want to blast me again. I can see it in their eyes, especially that young one of yours."

There were steps across the floor as someone else moved out from the shadows. The figure stepped in front of Harry and Gabriella so that they could both clearly see her. She then bent low.

"Yes, my dear," Soseh said softly to her daughter, "I am still alive, and no, I am not under his control." Soseh reached down and slipped Gabriella's wand out of her hand, and then did the same with Harry's. "Release them, Dakhil." An instant later, Harry and Gabriella were free. Gabriella jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Soseh.

"Mama, I thought..." and she buried her head in her mother's shoulder. Harry rose with more caution, looking to see if perhaps he might _Accio_ the wand from Soseh's hand.

"Dakhil flew to protect me against the beasts," Soseh answered. "He is an old friend, _very old_." Soseh smiled saying these last words.

"What did you say about Sirius and the others?" Harry asked. "Who's Marek?" He turned and faced Dakhil. "And who are you?" His tone was not meant to be biting, but Harry did not like the man standing before him, and Harry never liked losing a duel.

"And I see he has the memory of a gnat," sneered Dakhil, turning his back on Harry and returning to the stove. Gabriella released her mother and looked closely at the large man before her.

"Mr. Barghouti?" she asked slowly, and then Harry remembered – he had met Dakhil at the Darbinyan's last year during Christmas vacation. He had been smoking with Gabriella's father, and was introduced as a colleague of Grigor's at the university. Harry hadn't cared much for him then either.

"Do you not see the fire in his eyes, Dakhil?" asked Soseh.

"And you think this is enough for him to be accepted into the Votary of the Dragon?" Dakhil squealed, his deep voice pitching higher.

"Green fire," replied Soseh calmly. Dakhil's eyes widened, but Harry took no notice.

"Where are the others?" Harry asked with irritation. "Tell me now! Are they safe?" Soseh stepped over to him and smiled.

"Yes, Harry," she answered, looking into his eyes and then handing him his wand. They are but a few doors away." Harry moved at once to the door.

"Where?" he asked, failing to open the lock. Soseh took him by the arm.

"It is not safe," she said. "The beasts still fly overhead."

"Then we'll Apparate," said Gabriella.

"Not through these walls you won't," growled Dakhil. "If you could Apparate out, they could Apparate in, at least, some of them."

"We will have to wait until morning," said Soseh. "Right now, we should eat." Harry was still not sure he should let down his guard. Was he any more than a prisoner? He stepped closer to Gabriella, took her by the elbow, and walked her over to a corner of the room. It wasn't much privacy, but it was the best they could do.

"I know they're a long way off, but can you sense them?" he asked. "Sirius and the rest, are they okay?"

"I know Mama," she replied, "and she speaks the truth. They are safe."

"Unless she is under some kind of vampire spell," said Harry with concern. At this, Gabriella laughed and walked over to her mother and hugged her again. Soseh handed Gabriella her wand. Harry was feeling very trapped, but slipped his wand away and pulled off his wet robes.

"Here," said Gabriella, and she dried them with her wand. Harry returned the favour, and set the robes across a chair near the door. His stomach was grumbling, but he had a vision of blood stew. Still, his nose drew him nearer the stove.

"So," he said to Dakhil, trying not to stare, "you're a… em, a vampire." Dakhil just glared at Harry, and pulled bowls down from the cupboard. "Erm, how did you know what spell we were going—"

"Because I can read your mind, what there is of one, like an open book." Dakhil conjured a table in the middle of the room and set down the bowls. Soseh stepped over and helped him set the table.

"Dakhil joined the Votary long before he became a vampire, Harry," she said, placing spoons around the table. "His allegiance is ever first with Asha and her kin." She touched Harry gently on the arm. "As it will be with you."

After dinner, Dakhil lit his pipe and sat by the fire. Soseh sat next to him. There was a small couch in the room and Harry sat down, hoping that Gabriella would choose to sit next to him. He hoped she had forgotten about Hermione, but she was as cold through dinner as ever. Harry slid over and offered the space next to him, but Gabriella ignored the offer.

"I'm tired, Mama," she said quietly. "I think I'll lie down." She kissed her mother on the cheek, thanked Dakhil for their rescue and, saying nothing to Harry, she retired behind a set of curtains that the vampire had set up as a make-shift bedroom. Dakhil noted the expression on Harry's face.

"Things don't seem to be as cosy between the two of you as they were last Christmas." He took another long drag from his pipe and blew a billowing puff of smoke that circled in on itself as it rose to the ceiling. "Do you know why you're here, boy?" Harry never liked being called boy and certainly found the term even more offensive since he'd turned of age. He'd faced the greatest dark wizard of the century and destroyed him; he was no boy.

Harry glared back at Dakhil with fire in his eyes. "_Read my mind now_," he whispered. He rose from the couch and walked to the corner of the large room and sat on the floor, staring intently at the bloodsucker before him. Harry had no intention of sleeping tonight. He pulled his wand and closed his mind. The wand made Dakhil chuckle; and the barrier rising around Harry's mental faculties caught him by surprise. Still, the vampire's tongue was sharp.

"You'd destroy me, if it weren't for Soseh," conjectured Dakhil, his eyes narrowing. "And you'd leave if it wasn't for Gabriella, even though I saved your lives."

"There are butchers in London," said Harry wisely, "that keep their chickens alive in back so that there's always a fresh one to kill." He rolled his wand in his hand. "There'll be no killing here tonight, and at first light we'll join our friends and finish what we started."

"Someone has ALREADY died!" spat Dakhil, rising to his feet. "And YOU killed him!" He crossed the room, pointing his finger at Harry, but looking at Soseh. "Bogden would still be alive, if it weren't for his indecision!"

"That could not be helped," Soseh said calmly, but with a deep regret in her voice.

"Is this boy's training worth a man's life?!"

"Yes," she replied with certainty. Dakhil shook his head in disbelief, and walked away from her.

"Tell that to Bogden's children," he sneered. He began to pace the room, clearing tables, moving objects from one spot to another and, every so often, casting glances at Harry, who still sat in the corner. Finally, he sat back down in his chair.

"Soseh," he said in a calmer, almost soft, voice, "since you were a young girl, you have never been wrong, and I learned long ago not to question your sight. But this… this _child_?" He stood again and turned to Harry.

"Tell me, boy, wouldn't you rather gather your friends and be on your way to that cosy little school of yours?"

Harry shook his head no. "I face the dragon tomorrow, and join the Votary."

"If you live," Dakhil emphasized, with a hiss in his voice that sent a cold shiver down Harry's spine. "And for what? The love of a girl? Bah!" He spat on the floor. At this, Harry took to his feet.

"Ebyrth returns," Harry said. "Soon, the Dementors and the Centaurs will battle." Dakhil only laughed – a deep, throaty guffaw of tearing tin.

"Through the centuries, I have seen three such wars. Can you look around the world and tell me what mark they have left? The kin of Asha will not interfere in such a battle, even if it were to save your neck." And with these words, Dakhil seemed to convince himself that he had found the nugget he'd been searching for. "Is that what it is, boy? You're afraid. The Centaurs called on you as their sacrifice and even though you survived the Cleansing, you're afraid you'll die in the battle to come." He stepped closer to Harry, and his voice dropped to a low whisper, his eyes flashing white and revealing, only for an instant, the vampire that was within. "Let me tell you, boy, death at the hands of a Dementor will seem delightful when compared to what will happen to your soul when you fail at the breath of Singehorn!"

Harry narrowed his own eyes and rolled his wand in his hand. The gesture was clearly threatening, and Dakhil took it as such. The vampire's movements were incredibly fast. He muttered something in a foreign tongue and in that instant, Harry's wand was flying from his hand.

"Threaten me, boy?" Dakhil moved forward toward Harry raising his own wand.

"Dakhil!" cried Soseh. "Don't!"

Harry raised his right hand and cried out, "_Levicorpus!_" Then, he closed his right hand in a fist. The result of the spell was not what one might expect. Yes, Dakhil's body was lifted from the ground, but not by his legs. Rather, it was as if someone had tied a noose around his neck and was drawing the knot tight, high into the air. Dakhil's head hit the ceiling and he began to sputter for air unable to speak. "_Accio wand!_" Harry called, retrieving his wand into his left hand while still clenching his right.

"Harry, stop!" demanded Soseh. "You're choking him!"

"Vampires can't die, can they Soseh?" He stepped next to the dangling Dakhil. "Besides, I'm only a _boy_, I don't know if I remember the counter jinx." He took Dakhil's wand, levitated him over to the corner where he sat, and bound him with ropes, all the while keeping a grip around his throat that would not let him speak. Finally, ignoring Soseh's protestations, he stepped close to the vampire.

"Mr. Barghouti, let me introduce myself," Harry said with a vicious voice. "My name is Harry Potter. I've been touched by darkness and death. I have defeated both Dementor and Dragon, and if you think that this boy is afraid of either, you are sadly mistaken, for I am no more afraid than I am a boy." Harry turned and considered the ten inches of oak in his hand and what a well placed thrust would accomplish, and then he looked back at his captive.

"There is a darkness returning to this land, and if you too have been touched by both darkness and death as I know you have, then you can smell it in the air and taste it in the water. Unless, of course, you are its servant." For a moment, Harry again pondered driving the oak wand into the vampire's heart, but in the corner of his eye he saw Gabriella. She had stepped out from the curtains and was simply watching, silent; for how long he didn't know. He threw the oak at Dakhil's feet. "I join the Votary to defeat the darkness and all who would stand against the light." Harry raised his own wand, uttered the spell and released Dakhil from his stranglehold and bonds, and then he turned his back and walked away.

He fully expected to be jumped, or stunned or screamed at, but nothing came. He looked at Gabriella, but her eyes were fixed on the man behind him. He noted the wand in her hand and realized she too was waiting for something to happen. Instead, Dakhil, without saying a word, walked over to the cupboard and poured himself a glass of wine, drinking it in one large gulp; then he poured himself another. Finally, he looked at Soseh.

"I can not teach them," he said shaking his head. "They are too brash, too young. They would never listen."

"The old ways are new to them, Dakhil," answered Soseh. "They have much to learn, and too little time."

"And this one." He pointed at Harry. "He is not ready to face the dragon," Dakhil insisted stubbornly. "Let him return next year. Maybe then—"

"You heard Harry," Soseh interrupted. "His words ring true; you have said as much. The darkness will not wait. If you do not teach them the old ways, it will rise again. He will be blind against the darkness. I have spoken of our fate if we do not act." For a moment, Dakhil considered her words, and then he faced Harry and considered the young wizard before him.

"Never," he said bitterly. A moment later, Dakhil had conjured a cloak, spun in a whirlwind of blackness, and disappeared as if he were being sucked into the earth. Soseh let out a tremendous sigh of resignation and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Well, that could have gone better. Come, Gabriella," she said, "let's be off to bed. Harry, I'm afraid you'll have to take the floor. I don't know where he conjures the beds from and I'm sure the couch is too small." Soseh stepped over to her daughter, who still stood at the curtain shielding the bed behind.

"What fate, Mama?" she asked. "The fate _I_ have seen? My fate?" Gabriella's words held fright, an emotion he'd rarely seen in her.

"It's time for bed, my dear," Soseh replied, reaching up to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Good night, Harry." And the two women slipped behind the curtain, out of sight.

Harry's pulse was pounding as he squatted on a small strip of dirty carpet that lay at the foot of the two chairs in the living room. He hadn't been this angry since… since…. He clenched and released his hands, trying to let the rage run out his fingers. "Let it go," he whispered to himself. He grabbed a small pillow and slid down to the floor. It didn't make sense, any of it. Three weeks of pure heaven and the last 24 hours had been pure hell. Why now? Why just before he was to meet Singehorn? And how, in Merlin's name, could a vampire be a member of the Votary? And worse, how could such a beast think Harry unworthy?

He found his heart pounding again and looked over to see the coffee table floating a few inches off the ground. He took in yet another deep breath, trying to gather his emotions, and the table slowly settled to the floor. He dimmed the room's light, but would not extinguish the candles completely. Closing his eyes, he could hear in the distance the faint screech of what he now knew to be vampires. Were they in pain, or striking for another kill? Harry could not tell, but with each distant yell his mind's eye flashed on the sight of Bogden's corpse.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the darkness. He rubbed his face and sat up, looking over to the curtain that shielded Soseh and Gabriella. Were they asleep? He certainly wasn't; he certainly wouldn't be able to. He stood and walked over to the corner where he had considered killing the vampire… Mr. Barghouti.

"A member of the Votary?" he whispered in disbelief.

In the same corner, he fell backwards against the wall. From here he could see the room in front of him; from here, he could protect them, keep them safe. Still holding his wand at the ready, he slid down to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest. He would not sleep tonight. Soon, the cries and distant screeches faded into silence. The night's voice began its rhythmic beat as the sound of crickets mixed with the whistle of the breeze. Still, Harry's eyes remained fixed and firm, steadfast and sure. He watched as the onset of dawn was greeted by the song of birds just outside the door.

He impatiently stood guard as the darkness gave way to light, and then the first beam of the sun's rays broke through a crack in the top of the door. The moment the shaft of light entered the room he heard the door click and he knew its enchantments had been released. Stiff and sore, he took to his feet, walked over and tried the latch; it moved freely. He stepped out blinking in the morning's light, the cool mountain air sending a short shiver through his body. A large man was pushing an old wooden cart down the path that entered into the forest where they had found Bogden's body. What the cart was carrying Harry couldn't tell. He took another step into the light; the man was headed toward danger and Harry needed to warn him.

"Wait!" Harry called. "Sir, there are vampires in there." The man looked over at Harry, squinting his eyes; he was rather burly with long reddish hair that shot out in every direction. Still, there was wisdom in his expression, something learned about his eyes.

"English?" he asked, setting down the cart and walking briskly toward Harry, a bit too quickly for Harry's comfort. A few feet away, he put on a broad toothy grin, wiped one of his large hands on his pants and held it out for Harry to shake. There was a none-too-pleasant odour about the man. "You must be the one they have been talking about." He grabbed Harry's hand and shook it vigorously. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter. My name is Marek. The whole village has heard what you did back in Britain – and for a boy your age! We're all forever in your debt." He stood smiling, placing his hands on his hips, which only served to broaden his shoulders. Harry wondered if perhaps he might have giant blood in him. "Well, I'm sure your friends will be happy to see you're alive; they wouldn't take my word for it."

"Friends?" shot Harry. "You've seen my friends? Where are they?"

"Back in my cabin," answered Marek. "They would have stayed up all night if I hadn't slipped them a sleeping draught. Advantages of being a Healer, eh? They should all be waking up soon. I needed to get these things—"

"Cabin?" interrupted Harry. "Where?"

"Second on the left," answered the man pointing a finger back into the village. "There's a caduceus outside the door." Harry took a step and began to run down into the village, then stopped himself and turned back. "You… you're Marek?"

"Yes, sir. I am." Harry stepped up and took Marek's hand in both of his.

"Marek," said Harry, with a slight bow of his head, "it is I who am forever in your debt. Thank you, sir, for taking in my friends, my family." Marek blushed a bit and nodded his head back at Harry.

"I couldn't have done it without Dakhil's help," said Marek. The words took Harry back a bit. Marek slapped his hands together. "Well, we won't have to worry about those monsters coming back for a while. I've never seen anything like it – Centaurs killed about eight of the beasts. They don't usually roam these parts. I'm taking all that's left of their blood sucking evil, their dark robes, to burn now. Just in case… you know." But Harry didn't know, and for a moment he thought to ask, but his mind was more focused on his friends. Marek took a deep breath and let it out as if the mountain air rejuvenated his very soul. "Well, like I said, they should be waking soon." He turned and started pushing the wooden cart back into the forest. Harry shot down the hill into the village and toward Marek's cabin.

When Harry pushed the door open, he found his three friends sleeping in separate cots, each covered by a thick bear skin. A tremendous sense of relief washed over him as he stood watching them sleeping peacefully. Sirius was the first to rouse. He blinked as Harry stood smiling over him.

"Well, it's about time," said Harry with a smirk. "Some of us have been up all night, sick with worry."

"Harry?" asked Sirius groggily. "Harry!" He shot up and grabbed Harry around the shoulders and squeezed him hard. "Merlin, we thought you were gone forever. When I saw them take you into the air like Soseh…" Sirius quaked and squeezed again, as if trying to make sure that Harry was still alive.

"Keep squeezing like that," gasped Harry, "and I'm a goner for sure." Sirius released Harry, but then held him about the shoulders.

"And Soseh? Gabriella?" he asked with apprehension. "Marek said—"

"They're both fine," answered Harry. "We were all taken in by a… er, man Soseh knows."

"The vampire, Dakhil," came a voice from the other side of the room. Remus was awake and sitting up in his bed. "She told me that we might meet. I didn't think it would be like this."

"She's friends with a vampire!" exclaimed Sirius.

"Well," answered Remus, rubbing his face as he took to his feet, "we can't all have the same great taste in friendships that you do Sirius." He slapped Sirius on the shoulder, and Harry could have sworn he let out a little growl as he walked by.

Harry sat over on Hermione's cot and roused her awake. The moment she saw Harry, she wrapped him in her arms. "Thank God," she whispered.

"You were brilliant," Harry said. "I saw you take down two of them."

"I was an idiot," said Hermione. "They weren't down for long. If it hadn't been for Remus, I think we would have all been taken last night." Harry looked over at Remus with a questioning look.

"Vampires don't like splinters," he answered quietly with a shrug.

"No," laughed Sirius, "not when you're firing a whole tree at them, splintered into a thousand pieces. Do they teach you that in werewolf school?" Remus just rolled his eyes and washed his face at the kitchen sink.

"Well, we're safe now," said Remus, drying his hands with a towel. "We'd best get cleaned up and start on up the mountain."

"Mama will have breakfast ready in fifteen minutes."

Harry turned to see Gabriella standing at the door. How long had she been there? Quickly, he pulled his hands away from Hermione and stood. He wanted to say something like, "It's not what you think," but before he could utter a word, Gabriella had slipped out the door and headed back up the village road. His shoulders slumped toward the floor.

"She's not very talkative," said Sirius. "Did something happen we should know about?" Harry did not answer. "I see. Well then, Harry, you'd best be on your way. We'll get ready here and meet you at your… erm, where are you, exactly?"

"We're at the wood shed that looks like an outhouse," answered Harry weakly.

"Very good," said Sirius. "We'll meet you at your outhouse in fifteen minutes!"

"Sure," said Harry without conviction. He wasn't too keen on heading back to meet with Soseh and Gabriella. He was feeling a tiny pang of guilt for being such an ass toward Dakhil, but just thinking of the creature made Harry slip his hand into his pocket and feel for his wand.

Breakfast passed with very few words. Marek had found the Hippogriffs feeding in the forest and was able to retrieve the group's gear, but the creatures were too injured to fly further.

"As it should be" said Soseh as she slipped a shawl around her shoulders. "We will walk the rest of the way."

"But we won't make it before nightfall," asserted Hermione.

"No. We won't," agreed Sirius, who was also concerned. No one wanted another night-time run in with the vampires.

"Within an hour we will be within Singehorn's realm and under his protection," answered Soseh with cool confidence. "Nothing will dare attack us the rest of the way without his approval."

"Without his approval?" asked Sirius. But Soseh ignored him and looked at Harry with, perhaps, the coldest eyes he had ever seen.

"We are mere guides on the rest of the journey, nothing more than companions. It is Harry who must be prepared for attack… for death." There was no smile. Soseh was serious, deadly serious.

"As you have been told, Harry, once we cross into Singehorn's realm, Harry," Soseh continued, "the trials will begin. I had hoped that Dakhil would have instructed you for the challenges you must now face. Alas, not even I can see everything. Your fate and the fates of those who would travel further are now in your hands." There was a moment of silence that was broken by Harry's godfather.

"This is bloody insane!" he cried, spinning on Harry. "It's time to head back home. You should be worrying about what classes you're taking at Hogwarts this year, what parties you'll be going to, not facing vampires and the challenges of some damn dragon." He held Harry by the arm and pleaded, "Let's just go home."

Harry glanced into Sirius' eyes and quickly scanned the room. Once again, all were waiting for his decision. All that is, except Gabriella. She had made every effort not to look at Harry throughout the morning and this moment, however important, was no exception. She was purposefully avoiding him as she washed the morning's dishes. Since the two had arrived in Greece, he had been thwarted on this journey. It was as if at every turn and at every new step a sign was posted warning him to stop and turn back. But he couldn't stop now. It was bigger than him, bigger than them all. Whatever his future with Gabriella, he needed the power of the dragon to help turn the tide against the darkness he could feel growing all around them. Harry thought back to his Astronomy class with Professor Sinistra. The gears of the clockwork which had been humming so marvellously of late were, at least to Harry's senses, grinding. Something more than just a Dementor attack on the Centaurs was looming in the future.

"The next person who asks me to stop and turn tail will find one growing out between their buttocks. Is that clear?" Sirius smiled slightly, and everyone but Gabriella nodded in acknowledgement. Gabriella dried the last dish as if nothing had been said at all.

Soon they were on their way. Scattered rays of sunlight shot down through cracks in the canopy of the forest, but the air remained cool and damp. A thick layer of pine needles layered the forest floor as they moved silently ever upward. Sirius was having the most difficulty hiking, and at one point turned into a dog.

"Just an excuse for me to carry his pack," nagged Remus to Harry as they trudged onward, the dog panting blissfully ahead, sniffing at every opportunity.

After about an hour, the trees began to thin, and soon even the scent of pine had disappeared completely. They were entering a region that had long ago been sheered by glaciers. The earth had been stripped to the rock below, and very little grew except for the short grasses which gave everything a mossy look. Large, rough hewn rocks were everywhere, and the terrain climbed ever upward toward the sharp peaks still tipped with snow.

"Ostrý Roháč," breathed Soseh. "We will enter from the western edge." She pointed to a sharp peak that looked like a horn jutting upward. "I'm sorry Sirius, but Harry must lead from this point. He will know the way."

Harry took a step forward in front of the others. It was hard to imagine that they would make the peak by nightfall, particularly with Soseh. In fact, he knew it would be impossible. He took another step forward and could feel the tips of his fingers tingling. It wasn't winter, but at this altitude, when the sun fell, it would be bitter cold. Harry turned to the others.

"You don't need to be here with me," he said. "Apparate back down to the village. I'll… I'll be fine."

"No one can Apparate from here, Harry," answered Remus. "We can walk down, but we won't – unless you choose to join us. Which way will it be?"

Harry looked at the path winding its way back down into the forest. If they began now, they would easily return safely. Then he looked at the rocky path upward, if one could call it a path. Few, if any, travelled this way, and despite what Soseh said, Harry had no clue which way to go, other than up. A large eagle, set against the blue sky, was soaring in the distance and soon faded from view. Finally, he gathered himself and focused his thoughts on the way ahead.

"We climb to the dragon," he said with confidence. Everyone's expressions, to his surprise, brightened noticeably. It was as if they'd been waiting for this moment all along. But when he looked at Gabriella, he couldn't help but notice something even more surprising. Sliding down the right side of her cheek was a glistening tear that caught the afternoon's sunlight. For a moment, her black eyes looked as if they might explode with tears, but as quickly as the look appeared it had vanished. He turned and looked back at the dead terrain and the ominous peaks above. His back to the others, Harry swallowed hard.

"_Of course, she would know,"_ he thought to himself. Climbing up onto a rock that he thought might be the path ahead, his hands began to tremble. It wasn't the cold that made him shiver; he was afraid.


	4. Trappings

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 4 - Trappings

They'd been walking for about thirty minutes when Harry noticed something strange -- the path in front of him was growing clearer. It wasn't that it was more worn, or wider, or distinct in any way; it was simply more familiar, like the pattern of moving staircases one needed to take when ascending to Gryffindor tower which Harry now accomplished without a second thought. It was as if he'd traveled this way before, and with each step he became more certain of which way to take the next. He didn't know why he hadn't seen if before; the way ahead seemed now so obvious.

The others followed, huffing and panting, in single file behind him as he wove his way between the rocks and crags on up the mountain path. By mid-afternoon they came to a lake, or more like a very large pond, surrounded by the only meaningful vegetation they had seen since they left the forest.

"Let's stop here," said Hermione breathing heavily.

A number of the others muttered general agreement, all very tired. Sirius transformed back from dog and looked longingly at the water. Harry scanned the terrain; it did seem very inviting. The lake was a refreshing change to their previous scenery and offered a diversion, however short, from the task ahead. Nonetheless, Harry was uneasy. Gabriella's grandmother had warned him not to tarry on the way, but certainly that warning allowed for short breaks. Yet for no good reason, this place made him uncomfortable; just as the path they had been taking left him with a feeling of familiarity, the small lake was, for no good reason, foreboding.

"I think we should press on," Harry said. "It's not getting any lighter." He made a gesture toward the late afternoon sun, not wanting to say that this place gave him the creeps.

"Harry, come on! Let's have a rest," pleaded Sirius.

Already Gabriella and Hermione were taking off their packs. Sirius walked over to join them. The cool air was warmer here, and the wind that was blowing earlier diminished to a fragrant breeze, but the hair bristled on the back of Harry's neck.

"What is it?" asked Remus, noting Harry's tone and observing his expression which was growing more sour by the moment. "What do you see?"

"I don't _see_ anything," answered Harry, vexed. "I just don't like this place."

"Come on you three." called Remus to the others. Hermione and Gabriella were headed to the water's edge, and Sirius was only a few steps behind them. "This is not the spot to rest; we're leaving now."

"Honestly, Remus," complained Sirius as he stopped to look back at his best friend. "I have never known you to rest for more than five minutes in your life. The most frail of us all and you never…." He sighed, shaking his head and took a half step toward Remus. "Listen, let us just take two minutes and I promise—"

"Hermione, DON'T!" Harry screamed as an overwhelming panic washed over him, but it was too late. Her hand had touched the water and instantly an aquatic vine wrapped itself around her wrist and began to pull her in. Gabriella grabbed Hermione about the waist as the two girls cried for help. The same thing had happened to Ron at the falls in the Forbidden Forest, but this was different; Harry could feel that there was evil at play here.

Suddenly, everything snapped into slow motion; at least it felt that way to Harry. He watched as Sirius slowly turned to see what Harry was yelling about. Harry ran toward the girls, step-by-step, wishing his legs would move faster as Soseh and Remus followed to help. He had come even with Sirius who was slipping out his wand. A few steps past his godfather, Harry watched in horror as both Hermione and Gabriella were pulled wholly into the water without a splash, as if they had been swallowed alive by thick, syrupy goo. First to arrive at the water's edge, and without hesitation, Harry dove to their rescue, but landed on a solid sheet of ice, sliding nearly half way across the pond. He scrambled to his feet and, as if someone threw on a switch, everything was back to live action.

"_Incendio!_" he yelled trying to blast a hole in the ice. "_Incendio Forte!_" The bright red beams of fire just bounced off. _"Frusto!"_ he cried, hoping to shatter the ice -- still nothing. Soon, Remus and Sirius were at his side, but just as Sirius readied his wand Soseh held up her hands.

"STOP!" she cried out, causing Sirius to pull up short. "The challenges here are not yours, Sirius, anymore than they are mine. This is Harry's journey and his alone!" She walked to the edge of the now frozen pond, her face ashen as she peered down on its green surface. "Harry's journey," she whispered and swallowed hard.

"Soseh," implored Remus, "you can't mean that. We can't leave the girls trapped here to die."

"We spoke of the risks long before the journey began, Remus," answered Soseh, holding her hand across her mouth and fighting back tears. "You have no magic here." Sirius looked at his wand and then pointed it at the ice.

"_Incendio!_" he called, pointing his wand to the ice, but nothing happened, not even a spark. His eyes looked into Harry's and were filled with fear; he shook his head no. Sirius dropped to his knees and began to pound on the unyielding ice with his fists until droplets of blood began to fleck the glistening surface. It was Harry who finally reached down to stop him.

"It's… it's no use," Harry choked pulling Sirius back by the shoulders. "They're gone." His words lilted into almost a question that he asked in disbelief. "They're gone."

The wind began to blow again and whistled about the rocks, jeering at Harry in defiance. The greenery that had earlier surrounded the water now was dried, brown and lifeless. He looked up toward the peak which now appeared farther away than ever. The path upward was, in Harry's mind, still clear, but at its end waited the breath of doom.

"What have I done?" Harry asked, falling to his knees on the frozen sheet of green ice. Soseh still stood at the pond's edge, her hands tucked into the deep pockets of her coat. She had regained her composure, and her face bore no expression as she waited for Harry to make his decision. The passive look on her face simply made him slump further and, tears building in his eyes, he placed his hands on the ice. It was warm. He moved his hands to another place; again the ice was warm.

"It's warm," he said softly.

"It's frozen solid," said Sirius, "it's as cold as ice."

"Put your hand here," said Harry, motioning for Sirius to touch where he held his hand. Sirius obliged. "Can you feel the heat?" Harry asked. Sirius looked up at Harry.

"All I feel is cold," he replied; he pounded again. Harry looked at Soseh.

"What's going on here?" he called to her. He took to his feet, walked over to the pond's edge and held her gently by one arm. "What is this place?" he asked.

"There are places, Harry, all around the earth, filled with tremendous amounts of energy. The lair of Singehorn is one such place; the great falls of Hogwarts are another. The ancient peoples learned to tap into these sources of energy, each unique in its own way. The mountains here are like volcanoes that erupt and vent and spew forth magic of all kinds. Not all such energy is good. These mountains are the birthplace of dragons and vampires and werewolves, but if you blindly consider all such things as evil you will never have embraced the true meaning of the Votary."

Harry watched as Remus helped Sirius to his feet and they all gathered at Harry's side. Harry looked back at the sheet of ice and then at Soseh.

"They're not gone, are they?" he said with a glimmer of hope in his voice that lacked conviction. "It's some sort of portkey, or time portal, or something; isn't it?" Soseh looked at Harry and her face was grim.

"If you fail, Harry, they will be lost forever."

"Then there is hope," Harry said, more to himself than any of the others. He focused fully on the path upward that, at least to Harry's eyes, glimmered red and gold, and then he started off without looking back. "I must not fail. I must not falter. I must be strong before the altar," Harry whispered to himself, repeating the rhyme that Gabriella's grandmother had told him when they visited her in Armenia. He did not gaze back upon the icy grave, nor ask the others to follow. Yet, he heard their steps behind him and the huffs and grimaces of Sirius as they all continued to trudge up the mountain; that, at least, was comforting.

No one spoke as they climbed ever upward. The sunlight waned and the sky began to turn the color of rust as if reflecting the barren landscape that surrounded them. It was turning dark and growing considerably colder as they came upon a large outcropping of rocks. Here there was a path ahead, clearly distinguishable by all of them. It was well worn and often trodden, but the path Harry could see glimmering ahead of them twisted away from this trail, turning up and to the left into a craggy region that would mean a sheer and dangerous climb upward. The well worn trail continued straight along the direction they'd been traveling for the last few minutes and then turned to the right where the terrain was smooth but then dipped out of view just past a sharp ridge.

"Why are you stopping, Harry?" Sirius asked breathlessly, patting Harry on the shoulder and walking past along the well worn way. "Don't tell me your… old godfather's out-… pacing you." Sirius was breathing heavily, but proud about staying up with Harry. He grinned back at his godson and took a few backward steps up the path ahead.

"I don't think that's the way," answered Harry quietly, still staring along the path that led to the crags. About ten yards ahead, Sirius stopped and bent low, putting his hands to his knees and trying to catch his breath. Soseh and Remus were still about thirty yards back.

"And which way should we go?" he asked, taking in a deep breath of air. Harry pointed to the left.

"Up those crags," he answered decisively. Sirius took a look at the more difficult path and thought his godson had lost his mind.

"You're kidding, right?" Then a smile broke out on his face. "Hah, hah! Thought you could get me, didn't you?" Sirius slapped his hands together. "Come on. I'll race you to the top!" Sirius transformed into a dog, barked playfully and began to bound ahead.

"Sirius, wait!" Harry called just as Soseh and Remus finally reached his side.

"What's the matter?" Remus puffed, as the three watched Sirius jump ahead and then dip from view.

"That's not the—"

There was a yelp -- short and shrill -- that pierced the twilight.

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled, and he began to run up the path that he had warned Sirius not to follow. Remus tried to give chase, but his strength faltered; he slipped on loose stones and tumbled backwards, sliding down the path only to be caught by Soseh who was herself too tired to move.

As quickly as he could, Harry scrambled to the small ridge of the hill that Sirius had disappeared behind. If his legs had been fresh, he might have continued on and over, but as he was well past exhaustion he stopped short on top. It was fortunate that he did, for as he reached the top he saw that beyond the sharp ridge the rocks fell away into a huge crevasse some twenty feet across. The failing light made it impossible to see more than a few feet down. Indeed, the crevasse was eerily dark, too dark for the conditions.

"Sirius!" Harry cried out, but all he heard was the echo of his own voice and the whistling of the wind about the rocks. Or was he hearing the whimper of a dog? "_Lumos Forte!_" called Harry, and even though the light emanating from his wand was blinding to look at, its rays were lost in the cavernous deep which kept its bowels hidden from those who might try to peer within. Only the wind made its presence known, and even that was playing tricks on Harry's ears. It began to rhythmically beat against the rocks with a sound reminiscent of an enormous Hippogriff taking flight.

"SIRIUS!" Harry cried again. His voice was panicked and, for a moment, he was lost, his mind not knowing which way to turn, and then it turned for help. Certainly Remus would know what to do.

"Remus can you—"

Down the hill where the two paths had forked, at the spot where Soseh had stopped Remus from falling further, there was no one. Harry stood and yelled, "Remus!" There was no answer. A gust of wind whipped at Harry's face, nearly pushing him over into the crevasse. Surely they would not have left, unless… unless….

"REMUS! SOSEH!" Harry cried out, but the wind was howling furiously now making it impossible to hear anything else. As the stars began to break out across the night's curtain of black, Harry turned his gaze upward. A solitary _something_ slipped across the night sky, quickly disappearing over the mountain's peaks, blotting out the little pinpricks of burgeoning light as it passed. Harry was sure he'd seen that something the night before.

"No, no, no, no, NOOO!" he screamed to the sky, and, for a moment, the earth shook beneath his feet sending showers of rocks tumbling down the mountain below.

The only company Harry had now was the crimson and gold glimmer that marked, in Harry's mind's eye, the path he was to take to the lair of Singehorn. It was calling him to follow, beckoning him to the duty for which he was destined. Harry's left foot slid down from the ridge toward the lighted trail, and then he heard it again -- a whimper; it had to be a whimper. He crawled back to the ridge, pointed his wand into the crevasse, and shot a blast of red sparks. For the first few feet, the tiny flares shone bright, but then disappeared into nothingness.

Harry cast one more glance at the shimmer of the path that was calling him onward, but chose instead to climb into the darkness that had swallowed Sirius. He slipped his wand away and then lowered his legs over the edge of the ridge, feeling for something that would give him a toe hold, but finding none. Looking down it was as if he were swimming in a pool of darkness that rose to his waste; below that line, he could see nothing. He slid his torso lower, losing his best handhold, and still his feet felt nothing but a sheer wall. Finally, he lowered himself until he was only hanging from his fingertips. "Just like being tossed off your broom," he whispered to himself, reassuringly.

Swinging from side to side, he felt the tip of his toe brush against something. Whether it was this sensation, or simple exhaustion, his fingers let go their clutch and he began to fall downward. His stomach lurched upward in his throat and his hands swung wildly about reaching for anything, and finding nothing. It felt an eternity, falling in the utter darkness, not even the light of the stars shining down from above. Then, suddenly, he was met by the earth, landing hard on his left side and feeling the bones in his left arm snap under his weight. He cried out in pain, grabbing his left arm with his right. His cries echoed back, but their return tone was dull and deadened.

If the bottom had been stone, he surely would have shattered into pieces, but it was thick and soft, layered in what felt like a spongy moss. The air was still here and heavy with a rich, damp, loamy odor that reminded Harry of the Burrow in spring. He twisted and rose up on his knees. Using his wand he tried to set the break, and perhaps he did, but not well. He winced in pain trying to move the fingers of his left arm, and was sure that it would snap again if he put any real pressure on it.

"Sirius," he whispered, not sure why he was keeping his voice low. "Sirius."

Harry lit his wand which was again blinding to look at, but reflected off nothing, not even the mossy floor on which Harry now stood. An eerie feeling crawled up his spine, and he twisted his head around hoping to catch the eyes that he surely felt were fixed on him, but all was darkness. He had no idea which way to go, and so decided to mark off a square, and then widen it ever outward. He was on his third pass, when he came to a wall, and even with his lit wand right up next to its surface he could not make out the stone of which it was made. He tried some counter hexes that sometimes worked against concealment charms, but they had no effect. The edge of the wall, running vertically upward, was smooth and offered no foothold for a return trip up. Harry continued to widen his pattern.

On the fifth pass, he saw a glimmer on the ground; it was Sirius' wand. Harry held his own wand higher up into the air, and saw black shining back against the nothingness. It was Sirius as a dog. When Harry came up and placed his hand against Sirius' side, the dog recoiled in pain, but made no sound other than the short, shallow breaths that were the only thing to be heard in the darkness. Harry held out his wand and a blue light fell onto Sirius' fur.

"It's your ribs," said Harry. "You've punctured a lung… maybe more." He looked upward, hoping to assess a way out, but all that looked down at him was more inky black. Then his attention returned to Sirius, and he tried another spell to heal the lung, but it didn't work. The dog continued to wheeze, and then let out a short whimper. In little more than a moment, the dog was man and he looked miserable.

"I… can't… breath," Sirius wheezed, gasping at every word. A trickle of blood slipped out the edge of his nose. "I'm… dying."

"You're not dying!" said Harry sternly, but, inside, he thought Sirius might be right. He tried another spell, but to no avail. For all he knew…. Harry leaned back, and sat upon the mossy ground. He placed his hand over the spot where Goyle had run him through with a broom last year. He was missing a piece of liver there and was supposed to return to have it tended to this summer. Instead, he chose to use that spot to hide something more precious: the vivificus stone of cinnabar, the Heart of Asha.

He conjured it into the palm of his hand; the sensation was a bit creepy as he held the warm, moist sphere up in the light of his wand. It was truly amazing that such a small stone could resonate the powers of a wizard one-hundred fold. With its help, Harry uncovered his special ability to heal, and using its powers he had pulled Professor Dumbledore back from the brink of death, he had saved the life of a rampaging giant, and had rescued Lucius Malfoy when his left arm had been ripped from its socket. "Wisely done, at least on two accounts," he thought to himself. But it was the healing of Lucius that had most impressed Gabriella's grandmother.

"The worm, Pravus," she had sneered through clenched teeth, as if she had known the cruel dark wizard personally, "crawls throughout eternity, forever mournful of how he turned the stone to darkness. How great then shall be the reward for he who turns the stone to light even in the darkest hour?"

Right now, however, Harry's need was more practical. He cast a levitation spell and suspended it in midair.

"_Out of bravery, fire_." He blasted it with an incendiary spell.

"_Out of wisdom, blood_." He opened a small gash in the palm of his left hand and then grasped the ball, letting his blood flow freely into the sphere. Instantly, all became white and Harry knew that he was being asked once again for his intention. For the briefest of moments, he considered healing his own arm first, and a swirl of grey appeared before him, spinning like a tine tornado. But he knew that he mustn't use the stone on himself. Use of the stone for personal gain was forbidden by members of the Votary and all who had sworn to protect it. So it was with Gabriella and her family, whose line descended directly from the family that had saved the life of Asha, a deed that began the blood-oath between wizard and beast.

"_Out of love, true power_… Sirius," he whispered to the nothingness, and the tiny tornado scattered like so many leaves on a gusty fall day. In its place, a burst of colour appeared before him that coalesced into the image of his godfather laying in the darkness. "Heal him," Harry commanded, and the image faded then burst like a filibuster firework leaving nothing but darkness behind and a solitary pinpoint of light, pure light, the life-force of Sirius. With his mind, Harry reached out and held the light in his hands, pouring his own life force into Sirius and guiding it to heal his wounds. Without the help of the stone, Harry might have placed his own life at risk as he had with Lucius the year before. But with its help, he had power to spare, and once the healing was complete, he pulled away and fell bodily backward next to Sirius on the soft, loamy floor of the crevasse, the stone still clutched tightly in his hand.

He heard Sirius take a short breath, and then a full deep gulp of air as if broaching the surface of the lake after a deep underwater swim to rescue your friends. Harry was a bit dizzy, but sat back up.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"You… you used the stone?" a groggy Sirius asked in return. He spoke as if uttering words for the first time.

"Yeah," Harry answered. He held up his wand, a flash of purple light filled the darkness, and the stone vanished from his hand. Harry bent over, ever so slightly, as the stone found its home within him. "Don't tell anyone that I have it, okay?" Sirius looked upward at the darkness surrounding them.

"I wonder if we'll have the chance to ever tell anybody anything again," he said. "Gees, and I thought Azkaban was bad." He stood to his feet and grabbed Harry's arm to help him up as well, not realizing that it was broken. When Harry groaned, Sirius asked, "You broke it?"

"It's reset, but not well healed," Harry answered. "It's certainly not up to Madame Pomfrey's standards, and it won't be of any use if we need to climb out of here."

"Why don't you use the stone to—" Sirius began, but then cut himself short, already knowing the answer. "Stupid rules," he muttered under his breath.

Slowly, the two made their way back to one of the walls of the crevasse. By the light of Harry's wand, they could see each other, but nothing else. When they found the wall, it was sheer and smooth, and though they followed it for some distance, its form and texture remained flat and constant.

"It's like a giant sheet of glass," Sirius said, kicking it in frustration.

"Like a mirror," Harry muttered, more to himself than to Sirius. "It's like we're trapped inside a sheet of glass." His mind wandered back to the year before when he and Draco were cleaning the cellars and he trapped Peeves behind a glass mirror. He had uttered a spell without really knowing what the spell was. He placed his hands against the wall. "You're looking at us, aren't you?" he whispered to the glass. "Like rats in a maze."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" asked Sirius, wondering if, perhaps, Harry was beginning to lose it.

"Hold my hand, Sirius," Harry said. Sirius reached over and took it, thinking that Harry was growing frightened.

"Don't worry, Harry. I'll figure out a way to—"

"_Speculum Expedé!"_ Harry called out, holding his wand directly at the wall of the crevasse. There was a tremendous whoosh, then a moment of utter silence, and then a large snap. Suddenly, the stars appeared above their heads, and the wind whipped at their faces. They were back on the mountain at the edge of the ridge, looking into the darkness below. Sirius just shook his head in amazement.

"One-hundred percent Potter, as sure as I'm standing here." Sirius smiled, and ruffled Harry's hair. "Quick, let's gather the others and be on our way; there's still time, I'm sure."

It took about thirty minutes before Sirius stopped calling Remus' name, and he only broke off then because his voice was growing hoarse.

"I think they were carried off," was all that Harry would say, unwilling to offer anymore of an answer to Sirius' questions, which, to Harry's relief, were growing more infrequent as his godfather's voice faltered.

They had followed the more difficult path up the mountain side, and it was slow going. Harry had little use of his right arm and was well past the point of exhaustion. Fortunately Sirius had renewed energy, and with his godfather's help, Harry made it over the trickier parts of the climb and out onto a vast open space that was very much out of place in what had been, to this point, a stark rockscape.

The crescent moon was climbing in the evening sky and offered just enough light to reveal an enormous meadow covered in thick grass that rose well over waist high. The glimmering path Harry had been following led straight to the middle of this vast clearing, and then disappeared.

"I don't understand," said Harry, doubled over and catching his breath. "The path ends just ahead; this can't be Singehorn's lair."

"Then… we press… on… 'till we… pick it up… again," Sirius gasped in short sharp breaths. He began to step forward, but then stopped himself, waiting for Harry's decision. Harry simply nodded and continued forward through the tall dried grass following all that was left of the glimmering trail.

When they came to the end of the path, they found a collection of large flat stones that spanned some ten to twenty feet across. If it had been made of concrete, Harry would have thought it a landing site for Muggle helicopters. As it was, the stones were numerous and uneven like some sort of circular checkerboard that lay in ruin after thousands of years. He scanned the horizon for anything that might seem familiar, might give him some idea of where to go next, but found nothing. He looked back and the glimmering trail that he had been following was gone. Sirius put his hand on Harry's shoulder and pointed across the field of dead grass to a break in some rocks that might be considered a path that led up toward the sharp peaks of the mountain.

"How 'bout we try over there?" he asked. He took a step, and Harry grabbed him by the shoulder. Every fiber of his being was telling him not to move.

"We're here," Harry whispered.

The moment the words left his lips, a tremendous gust of wind swirled about them. Dust and small stones blew off the rocks, but the tall, dead grass just outside the circle remained calm and still. Another moment later, the wind stopped and Sirius lowered his arm from across his eyes. The two men were looking at each other when they felt it first in their feet -- a dull _thwump_. Then again -- _thwump_. They both looked down, half-expecting something to crawl up through the stones. Then their ears heard it -- _thwump_, _thwump_, _thwump_. It wasn't a rhythmic sound; it was more like hearing the first drops of rain strike the rooftops -- _thwump_… _thwump_, _thwump_… _thwump_. But the sound was growing louder, stronger, and soon they could feel the compressions in their bones. It was then when they stopped looking at their feet and looked up to the sky.

There they were, looming up from every side of the mountain, dark enormous wings beating downward with thunderous blasts of air -- _THWUMP!_ There were at least a dozen dragons and probably more that were yet to come into view.

"Merlin, save us," Sirius whispered, squeezing Harry's good arm, as the procession of dragons rose high above them in every direction.

Harry had mentally prepared himself to meet the great dragon Singehorn, and perhaps his family. The possibility of facing down nearly thirty dragons never crossed his mind, and he was having difficulty processing what he must do. He considered pulling his wand, but Sirius had his arm, and right now Harry was appreciating the added support.

Suddenly, a great black dragon with fiery red eyes let out something of a howl that nearly knocked the two wizards to the ground. An instant later, all the circling dragons let go their fiery breath in a deafening roar that finally forced the pair to their knees as they covered their ears. The flames lit the high grass surrounding them and sent up an inferno that reached three stories into the sky. They were enveloped in flame, the only thing keeping them safe -- the ring of rocks.

"This is it," Harry thought. "I've failed and this is my punishment." But Sirius didn't deserve to die like this. "Let him go!" Harry yelled out. "It's me you want!" But Harry couldn't see anything; the flames leapt so high into the air they obscured his view in every direction. Only the beating of wings rocking the earth let him know that the dragons were still out there.

"Never thought we'd be fried in a skillet like a couple of sausages," snarled Sirius. He had pulled his wand, if for no other reason than it gave him comfort. Unable to do anything, Sirius let out a great growl.

It was then that a figure in white robes appeared, walking in a direction from the peaks through the very flames themselves. He wore no hood and was holding something in both his hands like a serving tray. His pace was slow and deliberate, but it wasn't long before the man cleared the flames, his robes spotless, and joined Harry and Sirius on the rocks. Harry knew at once who he was. Sirius, however, was dumbfounded.

"Sirius," Harry said, wonderment of what he'd just seen holding back a flash of anger, "this is the creature that saved us last night, Soseh's friend. He calls himself Dakhil Barghouti."

Dakhil bowed his head slightly to Sirius and said, "Mr. Black, it is a pleasure to meet you." The tone in Dakhil's voice was calm and serene, almost deferential, as if the three were meeting for cocktails at a posh nightclub.

"Yeah," said Sirius, "you too." He looked about to see who or what else might appear through the flames; there was nothing but crimson fire.

Dakhil held out the white robes that were folded neatly in the palms of his hands. There was no look of satisfaction or disappointment. His expression was utterly inscrutable.

"The time has come… boy."


	5. Dealing with the Dragon

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 5 - Dealing with the Dragon

Flames encircled them in every direction, and yet the stones on which they were standing remained cool. The fire of the tall grass was undying, and if anything the crimson and yellow flickering against the night sky challenged Harry forward. Harry stared at the vampire before him and wondered if the man called Dakhil would show his true self, his evil self. If he did, Harry would be ready; he didn't care if he was a member of the Votary of the Dragon or not. He took the white robes from Dakhil's hands and began to put them on over his clothes, but Dakhil stopped him.

"These will be all you wear in Singehorn's presence," he insisted. "These, your glasses, and your wand." Harry hesitated. "I'd shave your head if I didn't think it would grow back a moment later." And then Dakhil chuckled. "When the flames are done with you, I suppose it won't matter what your hair looks like."

Harry just glared at Dakhil, and Sirius wasn't sure what to say. Finally, Harry began to unbutton his shirt. A minute later he was naked, and slipped the white robes on over his head. He then made to put his boots on, but Dakhil stopped him again.

"Only the robes."

Harry looked out at the burning embers that scattered the open plain. Surely he would be incinerated the moment he stepped off the rocks, but then he looked down at Dakhil's feet and noticed that they were bare and as clean as if he'd just stepped out of a bath. Harry straightened his glasses and twirled his wand in his fingers.

"Let's go," he said confidently, and Sirius moved to join him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Black," said Dakhil with a gentle bow. "You must stay here until the appointed time. Assuming the boy fails, however, it has been a pleasure knowing you." He held out his hand to shake Sirius', but Sirius kept his wand in hand and only stared back at the vampire.

"It's a shame, Mr. Barghouti," said Sirius, "that I won't be there to see your face when my godson succeeds."

"I only wish it were true, Mr. Black. For when the boy fails, I will have lost the dearest friend I have left in this dark world as well as her daughter. Nonetheless, the very fact that I am speaking to you now offers me a glimmer of hope, however remote it might be."

"This young man will not fail," declared Sirius resolutely.

"Of course not," replied Dakhil sadly, dipping his head again in a slight bow. Then Dakhil stepped over to Harry as the flames continued to roar.

"Plebe, there are four paths that lead off these rocks. Three will take you to where your heart desires, but only one will take you where you need to be. The choice is yours." Dakhil then folded his arms and waited.

Harry looked all around, his glance passing by Sirius, who whispered, "You can do this, Harry. I may be stuck here, but remember I'm with you; we're all with you."

There was a rush of wind that whipped the flames even higher into the sky, and as it did so a swath of red appeared directly before Harry. It was almost a tunnel, or a path blazing the way forward. It wasn't that the flames had disappeared; they were instead a brilliant red. Then there was another rush and to Harry's right appeared a similar tunnel, a vivid blue. The third gust revealed a green path slightly behind Harry. There was a fourth gust that swirled about the three wizards, but the sound faded to nothingness. Neither Sirius nor Dakhil said a word as Harry pondered his options.

He stepped closer to the red path; it headed in the general direction where Sirius had pointed earlier. Certainly, Singehorn's lair would be toward the mountain peaks. Another step forward and the hair on Harry's arms rose up as if a ghost had just passed through him. He turned to the blue path and again only a few steps from the edge of the rocks he felt a cold breath that turned him away. When the same thing happened at the green tunnel, Harry stepped back to the centre of the rocks.

"Where's the fourth path?" he asked Dakhil, but the only response was silence. Again Harry looked all around: red, green, blue. There was no other way that he could see, and, in his heart, he could feel that he was losing time. The challenges had to be completed before the rising sun, or he would fail; Gabriella and all the others would be lost. He glanced upward to check the moon's position. It was directly overhead, the smoke turning its glowing face a golden sienna. He had four, maybe five hours before sunrise. "Where's the other—" He looked at Dakhil, whose eyes were fixed somewhere between the red and blue flames. Harry walked over and stood in front of him.

"It's you, isn't it?" Harry asked, glancing up at the moon and then back down. "You're the other path – up and out over the flames. The colours, these robes, they're a distraction. You can just fly me over, can't you?"

Dakhil lowered his eyes to meet Harry's. They were sinister, angry eyes that, if anything, were growing more evil looking by the instant. And then Dakhil hissed through his teeth, "Be sure about what you wish for, boy."

Harry knew at once what Dakhil meant. To fly over the flames, Dakhil would need to transform into a vampire, and Harry would be at his mercy. Harry would have to _trust_ his fate to Dakhil's good graces, and Harry doubted very much if there was a grace to be found in the creature's soul. Without blinking, Harry looked up into Dakhil's eyes, eyes that were already transforming because they knew Harry's choice.

"I hope you're not hungry," Harry said, trying to muster a smile, but failing miserably.

Halfway in his transformation, Dakhil only growled back, and Harry wasn't sure if it was a laugh or perhaps the vampire's stomach. He also wasn't sure what to expect. He'd read that vampires took on different shapes and characteristics, but the only live vampire Harry had seen up close was the one that had attacked him and Gabriella near the village.

Harry watched as Dakhil's eyes began to glow yellow, his ears began to lengthen, and his fangs became more pronounced. What surprised Harry though was the fur. Dakhil was looking more like a werewolf with each passing moment. His fur was a golden brown, and black dots speckled his head and ran down his back to where they coalesced into black bat-like wings. Soon all that was Dakhil Barghouti had vanished, and in his place was a wolfish face with fangs to draw blood and a Basilisk-like tongue to slurp it up. Sirius took a step forward, but Harry held up his hand to stop him. He wasn't sure how fragile the alliance he held was, and he didn't need Sirius to become the night's main course. Instead, Harry turned his back to Dakhil and held out his arms.

When the vampire grabbed Harry from behind, it jarred his broken arm and he winced in pain. There was a large _swoosh_, and they were off the ground, _swoosh_ , climbing quickly over the flames. Harry could see the red, blue and green tunnels extend outward from the circular pad of rocks in the centre. They seemed to reach across the horizon, and the higher Dakhil and Harry rose, the further out the arms extended. He wondered when they would start toward the peaks, but they didn't. They kept climbing higher and higher. Harry watched the arms of colour begin to twist about the centre like an enormous pinwheel. They spun faster and faster until the red, blue and green united into a sheet of white; at its centre was a dark black disk that looked like a large eye staring up at Harry.

Just as Harry was about to ask where they were going, the two began to fall back down toward the rocks. His stomach jumped into his throat.

"But I thought—"

"You thought wrong!" Dakhil growled.

The closer they came to the ground, the more Harry realized that there was no ground. The disk was not the rocks from where they'd left, but a black hole that reminded Harry of the crevasse that had trapped Sirius. He couldn't help but close his eyes as they plunged into the darkness. The sensation was akin to poking one's finger into a large soap bubble; a similar coolness splashed across Harry's face. In this space, there was no roar of wind rushing past Harry's arms. He also felt somehow lighter, and, when he opened his eyes, he realized that he was floating a few inches off the ground. The next thing he recognized was that Dakhil had vanished; Harry was alone.

Slowly, his feet descended to the large square stones beneath him. It was no longer dark, but light. The sky was a dusty blue, streaked with thin white clouds. The air was warm and the horizon in every direction reminded Harry of the desert terrain in Lebanon. All was flat, dry and brown, and the sun's heat rippled upward off the parched earth, distorting his view. All was flat, that is, except for the large stone pillars that loomed large before him. Four sets stood on each side of huge steps that rose upward between them, as if leading to a great Asian castle that no longer existed. Each set of four was capped some ten stories high with a great dome that ended in a long spire that reached toward the heavens. He felt, very much, as if he had returned to the Middle East, but how?

Harry had started up the steps toward even more pillars and domes when he noticed that, near the top of the first collection of steps some eighty feet away, a man stood holding a lantern in his hand that shone bright against the light of day. Wearing robes of brown and green, he stood motionless, waiting for Harry to approach. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Harry reached for his wand; it was gone.

"Dakhil," Harry hissed under his breath. He looked around once again at the desert terrain. Clearly, this was the only way to go, and so he stepped upward.

As he approached the man, he noticed that he was black, perhaps from Northern Africa, Harry thought. He was tall, his shoulders were broad and he wore a thin smile that kept his teeth hidden. As Harry drew closer, he saw that the man's eyes were not brown, as he expected, but red -- bright red. With Harry only a few steps away, the man finally lowered his lantern.

"Walk with me, young man," he said in a deep, scratching voice that made Dakhil's own tone seem sweet. He turned and stepped upward toward a large landing; Harry followed only a step behind, constantly glancing back behind him to ensure this wasn't some sort of trap. At the top of the landing were two benches, intricately carved in an elaborate pattern and made from what looked to be crystal. The man held out his hand, motioning for Harry to sit, but Harry waited. The man chuckled.

"You may stand if you want, but my old bones are far too weary to stand about all day, and we have much to talk about." He sat with apparent difficulty, as if lowering a tremendous weight, and Harry wondered if the crystal bench upon which he sat might not shatter beneath the burden.

"Forgive me, sir," Harry said, sliding behind the second crystal bench, still preferring to stand. "But, who are you?" The question brought a look of disappointment in the man's red eyes as he considered his answer.

"You can call me Singehorn," he finally replied. "_Master_, is far too formal."

"S-Singehorn?" Harry stammered. "But… I… I thought… Where is this place?" At this, the man calling himself Singehorn smiled.

"Inquisitive. Yes, Soseh said you tend to lead with your nose at risk of having it snipped off." He shifted his weight on the bench and it creaked. "And it has been snipped more than once I understand."

"Soseh?!" shot Harry. "Do you know where she is? Is she okay? Have you seen her? And Gabriella? What about—"

The man began to laugh deep rolling huffs of laughter that shook the earth. The reaction brought fire to Harry's eyes, and again he reached for the wand that wasn't there. The movement only amused the man more.

"Tell me, child," said Singehorn, "I have introduced myself. Perhaps you could provide me the same common courtesy. "Who are _you_?"

At first Harry hesitated, wanting to know about the fate of his companions, but there was something in the red eyes that made him finally answer, almost apologetically. "Harry, Harry Potter, sir."

"Only Harry Potter? Or Harry Potter: Parselmouth, Guardian of the Stone, Champion of the Age, Sacrifice of the Centaurs, Victor over the Dark Lord Voldemort, and I hear soon the youngest wizard ever to receive the Order of Merlin."

"I won't accept," said Harry quickly.

"And why is that?"

There was a long pause, and Harry held Singehorn's red eyes with his own. They were penetrating his thoughts, he could feel that now, but he didn't care. He sensed somehow that in here, wherever they were, time was held still.

"They think the darkness is gone, but it's not. I… I don't know how I know, but I know he's not gone; I know _it _is not gone. I've failed to protect wizards and Muggles alike, but no one will believe me."

"I do." Singehorn shifted on the bench and leaned his massive frame toward Harry. "And there are others. Now _you_ tell _me_, where is this place?"

Singehorn moved his hand slowly along the edge of the white marble bench, and then rubbed his fingers together examining the dust at the tips; his nails were long and sharp.

"This place is you," answered Harry wisely, and Singehorn appreciated the young man's insight.

"Very good, Harry" he said, slapping his hands together to wipe the dust clean. "This place is where you can always come to speak with me." A gentle smile broke across his face. "You might note that dragons do not speak, and that's true. But here…" he held his hands wide and swept them in every direction, "here we have created a place where ALL members of the Votary can come to discuss the dangers that face the world."

"And what does it mean to be a member of the Votary?" Harry asked.

"What do you want it to mean, Harry?"

"I need help, help to fight against enmity and division. Lucius Malfoy and his Dementors are only one such hatred. The undead darkness seeps its lies into every corner, every weak mind that will listen. And these minds spend their time being hateful because of the ways we all are different, instead of searching for the ways we are alike."

"Very good, Harry," answered Singehorn. "And those who turn to darkness use such differences to build hatred not just among wizards, but among all living things. It is this hatred that upsets nature's balance and threatens to doom us all." Singehorn clasped his hands together.

"But my challenge…" Harry began.

"The challenges have already been faced and met: unwillingness to sacrifice another; recognition of defeat in the face of hope; willingness to trust the word of ones you love; and an unflinching will to turn away the darkness." Singehorn's eyes were proud, but then he raised one eyebrow. "We cannot always win, Harry. Failure cannot be our nemesis; it must be our teacher. You can no more win every battle than you can bring Greg Goyle or Cedric Diggory back from the dead."

The faces of his fallen friends flashed before Harry's eyes. They were painful memories, but he was more disappointed that he hadn't considered their sacrifices for some time. Again the gravely voice of Singehorn reverberated.

"Soseh, as always, is right. I see no reason why you should not be the guardian of the Heart of Asha. I am certain Asha, were she alive today, would approve. You are certainly the first to find so unique a hiding place; it will suit what awaits you. You have learned to charge the stone with fire, and that is notable, but now it is time to charge it with something far more endurable -- love."

With a deep groan, Singehorn rose to his feet.

"As I said, you may visit me anytime you wish, Harry. Dakhil can show you how."

The look on Harry's face soured and Singehorn took notice.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. Yes, there was a problem. Dakhil was a blood sucking, hate mongering…

"No. No, sir. There's no problem," Harry lied.

"Young Mr. Potter," said Singehorn, his eyes flashing a deeper red, "whatever your skills are they most certainly do not include the art of deception. You wear your heart on your sleeve." He took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. "Which makes my decision that much easier."

At these words, Harry was crushed. They had spoken of love and acceptance and he had won the dragon's confidence. But with one insult to the leader of the Votary, Harry was sure what Singehorn's new decision would be.

"But my friends!" he cried. "You can't let them die! I don't care what you do to me, but let them go free."

Singehorn, the man, began to laugh a deep hearty laugh, slow and rhythmic… "Hah… hah… hah!" It ended in something akin to the cough of an old man that had smoked cigarettes since childhood. He turned his back to Harry and held on to a hand railing with his two hands wrapped around the large stone beam much like an eagle's talons. "We live by one precept and one precept only: Bravery, Wisdom, Love. Tell me, Harry, what do these three words mean to you?"

"You have to let them go!" yelled Harry. He grabbed the man by his thick, heavy arm and tried to spin him around. What faced him was the fanged face of a dragon.

"We will work on wisdom." A blast of fire erupted from the dragon's mouth and engulfed Harry. Everything turned to flame. As he felt the intense heat surround him, his feet gave way beneath him — he was falling.

"Bravery, Wisdom, Love, Harry Potter. I have made my decision. Good-bye."

All was fire… falling… crunch. Solid stone met Harry's face and he felt his arm give way once again with a sharp snap, but the pain was nothing compared to the pain wrapping itself around his heart. How could he have come this far only to let it all slip away? His glasses fell from his face and he reached with his good hand to retrieve the broken remains. He was disoriented, nauseous, and fire still filled his field of view. His hand missed the glasses, and he crumpled to the ground, tears welling in his eyes.

"Let me help you."

Harry rolled from his stomach to his back. The voice… but it couldn't be.

"_Occulous reparo!"_ said a different voice. "Here, Gabriella. It won't be the last time, trust me."

"If I had a Galleon for every broken bone…"

There was a bright blue light and a sense of warmth ran up his arm. Then there was the chant, spoken in a language he was only now coming to understand. His arm was healed.

"You… you're okay?" said Harry, looking back at Gabriella as she slipped his glasses over his face. He touched her right hand just to make sure she was real. It bore the ring of woven gold he'd given her the year before and, as he touched it, the rubies glowed – _she was real_. Behind her stood Hermione, the light of bright flames flickering off her face.

"I don't understand," Harry said. "How did you—"

Gabriella just smiled and held him in her arms. Harry sat up on the stones and realized he was on the same outcropping of flat rocks where he had left Sirius behind. The flames still roared all around, only now the rocks were filled with people – wizards and witches wearing various colours of formal robes. To one side stood a group of men and women, Centaurs and House elves, goblins and fairies, all wearing red robes – the Votary. He looked back over at Hermione, first noting the hands that were wrapped around her waist and then, moving his eyes upward to meet hers, he saw the shock of red hair belonging to the man standing behind her.

"Ron?"

He too was smiling. "Hey, mate!"

"I've missed you." Gabriella kissed Harry hard on the lips, but her eyes still bore a look of concern. "They wouldn't believe me, Harry, that you were doing this for yourself and not for me. They thought that you'd change your mind if I was removed from your side. But I knew... I knew... Do you hate me?"

Harry was stunned, but narrowed his eyes into the black pools that twinkled back in his; he pulled her close and held her tight. Again tears sprang into his eyes, but for a wholly different reason.

"Thank god," he whispered. Through clouded eyes he saw Remus and Soseh, ans so many others. There was Sirius and Neville and—

"Stand up," said Dakhil Barghouti in a sharp, stern voice. Slowly, Harry took to his feet and stepped over to Dakhil, Gabriella at his side. It wasn't until he was standing that he realized just how many people surrounded them; or should he have said peoples? How had they all gotten here? When Harry reached Dakhil, the vampire held out his arms wide and everyone quieted. "Present yourself, Harry Potter, to those who would call you friend!"

Half wondering if it was the vampire before him that had forced Gabriella's rebuffs, Harry stood dumbstruck as to what to do next.

"I've never heard of so many at Joining before, Harry," whispered Gabriella into Harry's ear, as she squeezed his arm. "Just copy his every move." And then she stepped away. Harry spread his arms and held his hands out, his sleeves slipping down his arms and revealing the outline of a dragon on his right forearm. Dakhil brought his hands together in something resembling a prayer, and Harry did likewise. Dakhil bowed his head low, and so too did Harry.

"Bravery!" cried Dakhil. There was a sudden cheer from everyone present. Harry wanted to turn to see, but dared not move from his bowed position. There was a tremendous _SWOOSH – SWOOSH_ that filled the air from all sides. Dakhil stood straight and when Harry did so too, he saw them – over a dozen dragons filled the sky, flapping their enormous wings and churning the air about the rocks so that the flames swirled in a giant circle upward like an enormous tornado of fire. Then someone touched his shoulder. Neville – he was sure it was Neville. He sensed something, something powerful pass into him – a loyalty to his friends. Then he felt it again, only this time the sensation of bravery was somehow different. It was the hand of Luna. Then he sensed Ginny, then Arthur Weasley, Fred and George. With each touch a sense of warmth and a unique presence of power passed into his very being. The Centaurs: Bane… Magorian… The names went on until—

"Wisdom!" cried Dakhil, holding his hands high in the air, and so too did Harry. This time Sirius stepped forward and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. It was followed by more individual sensations running through to Harry's mind, flashing like snapshots and providing him with insights he never knew he had. Remus and an understanding of werewolves, Soseh and the intuition of the Votary, the loyalty of McGonagall and then… Dumbledore. Scenes from over one-hundred forty years filled Harry's mind. He could feel energy flowing into his essence, a power being drawn in like never before. Last year he had drawn Voldemort's power away, and vomited it forth. But this… this was pure energy given willingly… true energy.

"Love!" cried Dakhil, now stretching his arms outward. Harry stretched out as well and felt the touch of Gabriella, strong and passionate. Then came Hermione, Ron, Hagrid… more people were joining the circle with each passing second; some touched Harry directly and others he felt through their connection in the long train of hands and, as each continued to join, infusing a piece of themselves with Harry, Dakhil called out, "Do you commit yourself to these precepts! Do you swear your allegiance to the Votary?"

It was almost too much for Harry to comprehend. It was a tremendous celebration in a sea of friends, and yet it was all coming so fast and furious. There was the touch of Dobby… Winky… Grawp…

"YES!" Harry yelled out to the swirling smoke above, and the sound of roars filled the air.

Dakhil stood and looked closely at Harry with his stern eyes, and, still holding his arms open, he said, "Welcome, my brother."

For the briefest of moments, Harry hesitated, but then stepped forward and wrapped the vampire in his arms. Still, the procession of his friends continued upon the crowded rocks. He felt the touch of Bill… Fleur… Gabrielle… Dean…

Dakhil Barghouti turned Harry and had him face the crowd, all holding hands as the fire continued to roar upwards toward the circling dragons above. He sensed the touch of Charlie… Frank and Alice Longbottom… Harry saw Singehorn flying high above all the other dragons, his red eyes glowing like two stars circling in the night sky.

"I present," shouted Dakhil to all present, "Harry Potter: Protector of the Innocent, Guardian of the Heart, Emissary of the Votary!"

Harry noticed that the robes that draped his body were no longer white, but now crimson red. Faces continued to flash across Harry's mind, and he began to blur the distinction between whom he saw and whom he felt infusing their energy into his heart and soul, each with their own distinct voice. They were all a blur… all but for the last face, a face he would never forget, for it caused him to shudder slightly as he sensed his energy, cold and stabbing, enter him. It was the face of Draco Malfoy and the one word he carried with him that Harry had never heard: _Horcrux_.


	6. Too Close an Encounter

Harry Potter and The Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 6 - ****Too Close an Encounter**

When Harry shut the door to his room and descended the stairs he was, perhaps, the happiest he had ever been in all his life. The sun's rays exploded through the coloured windows above and cast a golden image on the floor below, tinged with enough red to make Harry think fleetingly of Fawkes. His hair a tangled mess, he wore a T-shirt, boxers and socks, one with a rather large hole through which the large toe of his right foot protruded. He scratched his stomach as his nose took in the scent of something that resembled the smell of burning ham. He took one step down and turned to look back at his room. _His_ room? _His_ house? No, not really. Not anymore. And he was grateful for that and smiled all the more as the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air, perhaps the only thing Sirius could prepare properly.

When he pushed open the doors to the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, he found Sirius working feverishly in front of the stove. His wand was casting spell after spell, not so much for the food preparation, but in an effort to clear the smoke that was billowing throughout the room. Harry walked over and turned down the flame with a wave of his hand.

"Here," he said to his godfather, "let me help." Sirius looked wounded.

"No, really, I wanted to make you breakfast. You know, first day of school and all." He cracked an egg and put both liquid and shell in the same bowl and started mixing it with his wand. Harry chuckled kindly and shook his head in disbelief. It was great to be free of Privet Drive, to be here with his godfather, to feel wanted and appreciated. It was probably the first time he had ever opened a package of bacon for breakfast without a sour taste in his mouth. He gave Sirius a look that said, "Get real," and then positioned himself squarely in front of the stove.

"I'm not bad at this," offered Harry, cracking four eggs at once into a bowl and then discarding the shells with another flick of his wand. Sirius shrugged and started to sit, but Harry stopped him. "Oh no you don't. You need to see how this is done, and when I come back for Christmas it'll be your turn." Sirius seemed to like the challenge, and the idea that he would be spending Christmas with Harry.

"You know," said Sirius pouring two cups of coffee, "I hear New York is spectacular at Christmas time. Have you ever been to the States?" Harry shook his head. "Maybe we could go for a quick visit."

"I promised Gabri—"

"Visit," Sirius cut in. "That's all. Maybe Gab can come along."

"If we're not at war," Harry said glumly.

"Or if the war's over by then," suggested Sirius with more optimism. Harry nodded plating the food and levitating the plates to the table.

Sirius ate like a dog and finished in about three minutes. Harry was more pensive, and while he did finish, it took him much longer. The nicest thing about being of age was that he didn't have to walk or take a car to go to King's Cross Station. For that matter, he didn't need to go to King's Cross at all; he could Apparate to Hogsmeade and walk in from there. Only the Head Boy and Head Girl had to take the train with their housemates, and this year the Head Girl was none other than Hermione Granger. Odd, Harry thought, considering she'd nearly killed Theodore Nott the year before. He smiled and took another sip of coffee. Since Hermione and her boyfriend, Ron, were inseparable and since Harry and Ron were inseparable, Harry would be travelling too. When Harry told Gabriella he would be going to Hogwarts by train, her face had fallen momentarily and grown concerned.

"Then I go as well," she had declared, shivering slightly. In her mind's eye, she had seen something, or felt something, but what it was she wouldn't say. She was never as confident about her visions as her mother, Soseh. The thought sent a cold chill down Harry's spine as the warm coffee slipped down his throat.

"Any more bacon?" asked Sirius rummaging through the crusted pans about the stove.

"That black stuff you fried up over there on the side is bacon; at least it used to be."

Sirius poked at it a few times, and then finally took a bite. His face took on a somewhat bitter look as it scrunched ever so slightly, and then he took another bite, shrugging his shoulders. His teeth and tongue covered in charcoal he said, "You'd better get ready. Is your trunk packed?" He glanced at the hourglass on the counter.

"Er… yeah," Harry fibbed. "Just a few more things." He levitated his plate to the sink which was piled high with pots and pans from the last few days. "Do you want me to take care of these before I—"

"I'll take care of it," Sirius lied. "Go get yourself ready." Harry shrugged and nodded his head, and started up the stairs, once again scratching his stomach and knowing full well it would be days, perhaps weeks, before the sink was cleared.

It was strange really, getting ready for his last year at Hogwarts. Usually he was rushed in the hustle and bustle of the Weasley family. This year, however, Harry wanted to be with his own family — Sirius Black. And it was the best decision he'd ever made. It had only been a few days, but in that short time Sirius and Harry had done absolutely… nothing. There were opportunities to talk about the old days when Sirius palled around with James; there were chances to practice advanced spells or learn the operation of some of the golden instruments that still lined the walls in the Black family study; there were times when they could have discussed how Harry brought Sirius back from behind the curtain; but at every turn, at every open door, Harry and Sirius simply took the time to enjoy each other in the here and now. They played chess; they played cards; they raced Caduceuses across the London sky at night; they drank, probably too much; and they laughed more than they had laughed in a long, long time. Sirius' eyes had never been brighter, and Harry's heart had never been lighter.

This time, when Harry readied himself at the front door to leave, there was no dark cloud hanging over their heads, but rather an eager excitement about the year to come and what it would bring. They drew strength from each other, knowing that whatever war was around the corner, whatever darkness rose on the horizon, they would face it together. For a moment, they just stared at each other and around the room.

"Er… Right, then," began Sirius. "Off you go." He nervously patted the sides of his hips with his hands.

"I'll… I'll owl you when I get in," replied Harry. Sirius nodded. Silence. "Right, then." There was another long pause. "Bloody hell," Harry cursed and he walked over and pulled Sirius to him tightly in a grand hug. Sirius responded in kind.

They held each other for more than a moment and then Sirius whispered in a somewhat raspy voice, "Be careful." Harry pulled away, wearing an enormous smile.

"I've never been anything but!" He winked, there was a crack, and he was gone.

He Apparated to an out of the way location just down the street from King's Cross Station and began walking. The late morning was clear, and he was surprised to find the air so cold. He'd been spending so much time inside with Sirius he hadn't thought much about the weather. His coat was in his trunk, and he didn't feel much like opening that in the middle of a street filled with Muggles. He shivered, rubbed his arms, and continued on his way. He was coming to the first steps of the station when a beggar boldly stepped in front of him demanding a donation. Wearing a good three days' stubble, his clothes were filthy, and his breath smelled strongly of alcohol.

"Come on, mate," he wheezed. "Just a pound fer me condition. I ain't eaten in days."

"Sorry," Harry said earnestly, "I don't have a pound."

"Surely a schillin'?"

Harry kept walking, trying to ignore the intruder. "Really," he said over his shoulder, "I don't have any money." The man grabbed Harry by the arm.

"I can hear the jingle in yer pants, boy!" It was true that Harry had a few Galleons in his pocket, but no Muggle money of any sort. He was sorry for that, but he was irritated by being called a boy and he turned to face the beggar.

"Call me a boy again, and you—"

"You'll what!" spat the drunk, stepping toe-to-toe with Harry. The sight was a bit comical, since Harry was not the small child he had once been. Maybe Ron had him by a couple of inches, but he was still a strapping young man, and he stood a good four inches taller than his adversary. Curling the fingers of his right hand, he was about to say just what he'd do when a familiar tingling ran up his spine. He grabbed for his wand, but too late. Or at least it would have been if he had been the target. The drunk stood motionless, eyes glazed, body frozen in position. Harry looked up just as a hand gently took him by the arm.

"Sorry about that, sir," said a young man not much older than Harry. "I… er… I wasn't paying attention. Won't happen again, I promise."

The man, still in his teens, wore a dark gray suit with thin blue piping, a burgundy tie and a white shirt. The dark glasses reminded Harry of old James Bond movies, but the white tennis shoes with red laces told Harry at once he was dealing with a wizard. Then he noticed the shape of the jaw, the voice, but the hair—

"Finnius?" Harry asked, wondering if he was talking to the former Head Boy of Hufflepuff who, at graduation, had the start of a beard and hair that hung down to his waist. "I thought you were going to start a band? The… er, _The_ _Grindly Gutters_?"

"Erm," said Finnius, looking around nervously, "can we keep going?"

"Why? What's the matter?"

"Well… see, I'm supposed to—"

"Not you?" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "Surely the Ministry—"

Finnius pulled Harry by the arm just as the drunk began to come to his senses. Quickly, they climbed the steps and found themselves in a sea of people heading to their platforms at King's Cross. Perspiration was popping out on Finnius' forehead and Harry wondered if he hadn't wet himself, he looked so nervous. "It's just… well, I promised Tonks and I've already made a mess of things."

"You work with Tonks?" Harry asked with a bit more excitement and interest. He hadn't heard from her all summer, and she wasn't at the Joining with Singehorn. "Is she okay? Where is she?" Finnius continued to usher Harry toward platform nine and three-quarters holding Harry with his right hand and wiping his brow with his left.

"Yeah, well, she's the one that convinced me I could be an Auror. Said she'd train me, see… herself. But since that business at the Ministry last year, she's been in and out of the hospital and… well, now she's in and… well, she made me promise. See?"

Harry didn't see, and he was getting a bit irritated. He yanked his arm out of Finnius' grip. "What do you mean she's in the hospital? What's wrong?" Finnius looked away from Harry's intense gaze.

"Ah, here we are." They were at the platform. "Just in time, too!" Before Harry could say another word, Finnius gave him a bit of a shove and he plunged through the wall and found himself on the other side, standing just in front of the Hogwarts Express. Harry dropped his trunk, reached for his wand and had started back toward the wall when he was tackled from the side. The flash of raven black hair in his face told him at once it was Gabriella.

"You made it!" she cried. "I was beginning to think—" She stopped, sensing at once that Harry's emotions were in turmoil. "What's wrong?" And then she too looked at the wall leading to the outside world. "Who's out there?"

The frustration on Harry's face was clear; he was about to charge back out when his eyes caught something he had never seen before: Neville Longbottom was hugging his parents, Frank and Alice, good-bye. Alice held his face in her hands and planted a big wet kiss on his cheek. They were all smiles as Neville wiped it with his sleeve. Then Frank Longbottom handed his son something and, as Neville wrapped his fingers about the object, a more serious look came into his eyes. His dad slapped him on the shoulder and a thin smile appeared again as Neville boarded the train.

"He's Head Boy," Gabriella said warmly.

Harry looked at Gabriella, then at the wall behind, and back to the train, then back to the wall. "Come on, let's—"

"ALL ABOARD!" the conductor called.

"Dean said he'd save us a spot," said Gabriella, taking hold of Harry's hand. Harry took one last look at the wall behind them, and then the two boarded the train. The corridor was crowded with students, particularly first years who were completely confused. What was noticeable, however, was that the normal demarcation of house zones seemed to be somewhat blurred. There were Slytherins purposefully mixing in with Ravenclaws near the front of the train, and a group of third year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in another carriage playing snap. A few cars down, Harry just caught a glimpse of someone in Gryffindor robes disappearing into a carriage and so he and Gabriella followed. He pushed open the carriage door, only to walk in on Neville and Helen kissing; a sweet fragrance filled the air.

"Oh," said Harry. "Sorry." Neville had Helen up against the wall and there was some sort of vine with delicate pink flowers wrapping itself around one of her arms and abdomen. She was wearing a smile and blushing slightly. "Er… seen Dean?" Neville, who seemed about three inches taller than when Harry last saw him, which was only a few weeks ago, spoke through a beaming smile.

"Yeah, he's up forward." Then, with a confident flick of his wand, Neville shut the door in Harry's face, following that with a charm that sealed it tight. Gabriella just raised her eyebrows and smiled.

"See what happens when you're late." She smacked Harry's stomach. "That could have been us!"

They continued moving forward past various carriages when the flash of red hair caught Harry's eye. It was Ron, and he was bickering with Hermione. The floor of the carriage they were in was littered with clothes, books and various things Harry knew to be Ron's, most notably because of the overabundance of socks.

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione said in a scolding voice, as if talking to a four year old. "If you don't find it soon you'll have to tell Professor Flitwick, and if you won't, I will."

"Is that a threat?" shot back Ron, holding both hands on his hips and kicking at the pile of clothes on the floor. Gabriella walked in first.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked gently, Harry only a step behind her.

"No, nothing's wrong," snapped Ron immediately. "Er… hey, mate!" he said with a wave at Harry.

"He's lost his wand," exclaimed Hermione.

"I haven't lost anything," retorted Ron in defiance. "I've just… er…"

"Have you tried summoning it?" asked Harry, starting to rummage through the clothes on the carriage floor. The steeled look of fire in Ron's eyes said that they had certainly tried that and many other things and would Harry just not make any other suggestions because Hermione had already made every possible suggestion known in the Wizarding world and none of them had worked.

"Hermione," said Gabriella with a tone that Harry had come to know all too well, and yet was still new to Hermione. "It's possible that one of my Slytherin housemates is playing a trick, most likely Teddy. Would you join me and perhaps together we can solve this little problem." Knowing Hermione's disposition toward Nott, Harry wondered if it was a wise idea to put the two in close proximity, but Gabriella may have been on to something. Certainly Nott would have the motivation to pull a stunt like this, but maybe Gabriella just wanted to get Hermione away from Ron for a bit. He smiled to himself realizing that it was probably both.

"Sure," said Hermione. She cast one more look at Ron before she left and said, "And don't you stop looking!" The moment the girls departed, Ron flopped down on the carriage bench and blew the hair out of his eyes.

"Bloody hell."

"Well, Fred or George can certainly get you a new wand," offered Harry, sitting down across from Ron. "Merlin knows what it would do to you if you tried to cast a spell." Ron groaned. "Or maybe we can sneak out this weekend and Apparate to Ollivanders." Unfortunately, Ron's face did not brighten at the suggestion.

"Look at us, Harry," said Ron with a whimsical look on his face, tinged with a bit of sourness. "We were here six years ago, you and me. Do you remember?"

There was a moment of silence as Harry watched the countryside slip by. It wasn't the same train as six years ago, but it might as well have been.

"Yeah," said Harry, almost in a whisper as he nodded his head, "I remember."

"Things haven't changed much."

"They've changed loads." Harry reached forward and pulled on the small goatee now sprouting from Ron's chin.

"Really?" asked Ron with a snicker. "Back then you were Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, and I was Ron Weasley with a smudge of dirt on my nose."

"That's not—"

"Now we're both of age and you're Harry Potter, Protector, Guardian and Emissary, the wizard that destroyed Voldemort and brought peace with the giants, and I'm Ron Weasley the kid that can't find his BLOODY WAND!" At the last words, he stood up, kicked at the wall, and put his boot all the way through.

Harry was trying to muster something to say when the door began to open. Angry, Ron instinctively reached for his wand to slam the door shut, but it wasn't there. He growled like a lion and was about to physically slam the door shut when Patrick O'Riley, now in his second year, poked his head through.

"Was that yeh, Ron?" asked Patrick brightly, nodding his head toward the hole that now protruded into the corridor. Then he noticed Harry. "Hey, Harry! Dean said yeh were going to be up in his carriage."

"Later," answered Harry. "Right now, I'm just—"

"Patrick," cut in Ron, doing his best to remain calm, "we don't have time to—"

"Prob'ly mad 'bout losin' this," interrupted Patrick, and he held up Ron's wand. For a moment Ron sputtered, unable to speak. Finally, he grabbed the wand and pulled it close, cradling it like a baby as a wave of relief passed over his body.

"Where'd you find it?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I didn't," said Patrick, "James did. When he showed it teh me, I knew at once whose it was. He was on his way teh take it teh Flitwick, but I told him I'd get it teh yeh."

"Er… thanks," answered Ron. "You're okay, kid." At last Ron smiled as he slipped his wand away.

"Why don't you and James stay in here," offered Harry. "I haven't heard from the Changs all summer and was wondering how Cho was doing." At these words, Patrick became noticeably uncomfortable.

"Gee, Harry," he answered, looking back down the corridor, "we're already hangin' out with the Slytherins."

"Slytherins?" asked Harry. "I thought James was going to start Gryffindor this year. He knows he can pick whatever house he wants doesn't he?"

"Yeah, well, he changed his mind o'er the summer, I guess." Again he glanced nervously down the hallway. "Well… see yeh!" He smiled and disappeared down the corridor to the back of the train.

"That was a bit odd," said Ron, sweeping away a few pairs of socks with his hand and sitting down on the bench.

"Yeah, it was."

"Why on earth would anybody choose Slytherin over Gryffindor? Everyone knows they're nothing but a bunch of—"

"Yes?" Gabriella stood at the open door, her fingers drumming against the frame.

"Er…."

"…Sweethearts!" chimed Hermione gaily as she stepped into the carriage with Gabriella. "Except maybe… _Teddy_." She flopped down next to Ron.

"He didn't take it too well when we asked if he'd stolen Ron's wand," continued Gabriella as she sat next to Harry. Hermione took Ron's hand and pulled him close to her.

"No, but he didn't dare use a cross word or raise his voice," said Hermione. "Quite the gentleman for a change."

"Being nearly killed can do that to some people," said Ron.

"I could sense right away he was telling the truth," said Gabriella, "so we decided to come back. Patrick told us he found your wand."

"No, James Chang found it," said Harry. "Patrick only returned it. Did he tell you that James has decided to go with Slytherin this year?"

"There, you see!" said Gabriella, "Another fine example. James was one of the better first year students as I recall." Ron pulled out his wand and looked at it closely.

"I should probably have it examined," he said. "Maybe Nott put him up to it."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," said Hermione, slapping his hand. Then she turned to Harry, trying hard to ignore the mess on the floor. "So how's Sirius doing at Grimmauld Place?"

The hours passed quickly as lunch came and the late afternoon brought drooping eyelids to everyone. Dean never made his way back to the carriage, and they never endeavoured to move further up the train. They were all nodding off to sleep when the train began to slow.

"Hogsmeade?" asked Ron groggily. The midday sun seemed suddenly to fade to darkness, as if someone had just pulled down the curtain.

"No," said Hermione with a bit of concern. "It's too early." They all noticed the last word leave her lips in a puff of smoke -- the air was growing colder by the second. They knew at once what was happening and each had their wand at the ready. The darkness outside the train filled with flashes of light. Ministry guards had moved out to meet the onslaught, which was centred toward the front of the train. Incantations filled the air as Patronus after Patronus was being sent out against the attacking Dementors. There were screams all up and down the corridors, mostly from the youngest students.

"Ron," said Hermione with a commanding voice. "Help me gather the first years." Ron was up in a flash, and a moment later his voice was barking orders down the corridor for everyone to remain calm, calling for the first years to muster at the galley. Students began to move toward the rear of the train, away from the fighting.

"They're looking for you, Harry," said Gabriella, holding her wand at the window. She cast a spell at the glass, protecting it from attack, just as other windows began to shatter about the train.

"Well they're about to find me!" shot Harry as he started for the door. Gabriella grabbed his arm.

"You can't be serious. Who knows how many are out there. Your best bet is using the train as a—" The train lurched forward, causing collective screams all up and down the corridor. Then it began to move -- chug… choo-choo… chug… choo-choo… It was quickly gathering speed. There was another flurry of bright white flashes of light cast against the darkness, and the afternoon light suddenly reappeared and the warmth returned. Everyone cheered as the veil of darkness became nothing more than a dark cloud on the horizon behind the train.

A look of relief spread across Gabriella's face, but darkness still remained in Harry's eyes as he reached and grabbed the wrist of the hand that was holding his arm. Slowly, but firmly he pulled her hand away, and looked at her with a very grim expression. She sensed his emotions before he said the words and she didn't like what she was feeling. Finally, he spoke in a stern and heated voice.

"Don't _EVER_ do that again."

"But—"

There was a scream that Harry knew at once to be Ginny's. In a flash, he was out the door and down the corridor, only a step ahead of Neville Longbottom, and two steps behind Ron. Ginny was on her knees in the carriage, broken glass everywhere and tears streaming down her eyes. She grabbed her brother by his sleeve.

"Do something, Ron!" she cried out. "They've taken him. They've taken Dean!"

"But… but he's right here, Gin" answered Ron, looking at Dean who was still seated on his chair, but looking out the window at the rural setting running past. It was Gabriella who noticed first.

"Oh, no," she whispered, stepping past Harry and turning Dean to face them all. There was a collective gasp. He was still breathing, but his eyes were blank, his face sunken, and his skin almost pale. He gave them no reaction at all. Ginny stood up and wrapped him in her arms, rocking him back and forth. On her finger was the ring Dean had given her the year before. The firestone with which it was set had lost its brilliant glow, its fire, its love had been extinguished.

"They've taken him," she cried again. "They've taken his soul."


	7. The Lost Soul

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

**Chapter 7**** - The Lost Soul**

Harry clenched his fists and spat, "Fucking war." Other than that, only the rumbling of the train and the wind whistling through the shattered window accompanied Ginny's sobs. He stepped next to Gabriella and watched helplessly as Ginny, a soul mate if ever he had one, rocked back and forth with Dean in her arms. Dean, breathing but lifeless, made no response. _He might as well be dead – he'd be better off. _ Harry felt the rage building within him, but something was tempering it, something was focusing it. He gazed into nothingness as smoke streamed by the broken window and a tear tracked down his cheek.

"Ginny," Gabriella whispered, then louder, "Ginny." The redhead, her face wet, looked up at Gabriella. "May I see him?" Ginny sniffed, wiped her face and nodded silently. Someone, a girl, screamed at the door and then ran down the corridor yelling for help.

"I'll get a Healer," said Neville despondently to Harry. His voice was much older and much sadder than Harry had ever heard before. They both knew it was pointless.

"_It won't do any good,"_ Harry thought to himself, reaching for his wand and then nervously fiddling with it in his fingers. Then, out loud, he whispered, _"He's gone."_ The rage roiled in his mind as he watched the green hills roll by – it was a picture perfect day. Finally, his mind found its clarity. "This was past_ forgiveness_," he thought to himself and his hand clenched tightly about his wand as he pulled it to the ready. "I'll kill them! I'll kill them all!" He would Apparate back down the tracks and destroy every Dementor that moved. He had begun the wrist movement when Gabriella grabbed his arm. His eyes shot fire into hers. "I told you—" he began.

"You're not thinking," interrupted Gabriella, staring at him intently with dark black eyes that demanded he not be so brash.

"I don't care how many of them there are!" cried Harry.

"I'm with you, Harry!" yelled Ron. "We'll kill 'em all!"

"YEAH!" cried others. "LET'S GO!"

Wands began to appear from everyone.

"Harry!" shot Gabriella. "THINK!" She pulled him close. "You know a _better_ way!"

Harry's mind began to race; there was no time for this. The stone? Was she talking about the stone? Certainly she didn't mean that he could heal Dean's soul using the stone. "I don't have time—"

"Your _voices_, Harry," she said softly, but with a sharp tone.

Voices? _Voices!_ She couldn't be serious. She had wanted to work with him on the voices, the gifts of those who had touched him at the Joining, but he had chosen instead to spend his time with Sirius. All those present at the Joining on Singehorn's mountain were, in various ways, a part of him now. They had shared of themselves freely, but there were so many that he couldn't sort them out, and time at that moment was dripping through his fingers.

"I can't."

"You must."

For a moment, as more voices clamoured about the corridor for a counterattack on the Dementors, he tried to reach down deep inside, calling to those who had shared of themselves, scanning through countless memories, snippets of pictures that spanned centuries.

"This is impossible," he said with a sigh.

"Come on, Harry! Let's kill them!" someone called from behind. It was Anthony Goldstein. Very well said, thought Harry, but Anthony's Patronus would be lucky to push away a single Dementor, let alone dozens. Unfortunately, before Harry could say another word, Anthony gave Harry the most peculiar look and shouted, "For our families, mate!" He turned to the others. "Back to where they stopped the train!" There was a _pop_ and Goldstein was gone. It was followed by another _pop_ and another _snap_. Senior students were Disapparating from everywhere.

"Wait! STOP" Harry yelled. "You're… you're not ready!"

"Mama's seen them, Harry," said Gabriella above the snaps and pops. "She may know. Think of her… _be_ her!"

Harry closed his eyes once again and focused on Soseh. His mind dwelt on the warmth of her hospitality and the aroma of her kitchen, but Gabriella turned his mind.

"Coldness. Emptiness," she whispered. "The smell of decay, of death."

Images filled Harry's mind. Images of what was, what is, what might be. He saw Dakhil, a much younger looking Dakhil, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth; he saw himself hanging from the window on Privet Drive, an odd glow surrounding his half-naked body; he saw Grigor looking cruel and defiant; he saw the cold dead body of Antreas, stab wounds covering every inch of his bare chest; he saw death, and then he saw _them_.

It was night and the only sound, beyond a lone scream in the darkness, was the raspy breath of the oncoming Dementor. Just a few feet away, a young girl was cowering beneath a cloaked figure. Just to her left was a man, somewhere in his late twenties, a dragon emblazoned on his right forearm. Ignoring the man, the Dementor pulled back his hood, revealing its skull-like masque of horror, a large hole where perhaps a mouth should be. The vision seemed so real Harry tried to reach for his wand, but found his arms shackled to a stone wall.

The girl screamed as the Dementor drew in its breath in a great wheeze. Another scream… another wheeze. On the third wheeze, the girl made no sound; her dull eyes were opened, staring blankly up at her attacker. It was then, as if empowered with a second vision, Harry saw it: the glow. He watched the faint golden white light being pulled into the hole in the Dementor's face, if you could call it that. He expected it to disappear into the darkness, but it didn't. The Dementor pulled his hood up over his skull, but Harry could still perceive the glow trying to fight its way out. It was as if the Dementor was shining, backlit by a spotlight from above. "I see," Harry whispered, and the darkness rushed away to be replaced by the lights and rumblings of the racing Hogwarts Express.

"I see!" cried Harry. "I…" He paused. "Soseh can see," he said slowly shaking his head. "Soseh has the gift, I don't, at least not yet. I haven't tried. There's no way I can—" Gabriella's eyes were fixed on his. He knew she bore her mother's gift of sight, and her eyes were telling him that she too must go. "No," he said flatly. "You're staying here."

"It's the only way, Harry," she said, still holding his arm. "If we find the one in time, then… then you can use the stone to draw back Dean's life force." Everyone looked at the two as if they'd both gone mad. There were footsteps racing their way down the corridor. Harry glanced back, knowing that once the Aurors found out about the attack and the flight of the students they'd be blasting Dementors right and left. With one wrong spell, Dean's soul would be lost forever.

"We must go now," she insisted. Harry held the hand clutching his arm and nodded his assent.

On two, they both Apparated back into the darkness. It was as if they had just landed themselves in the middle of an ominous thunderstorm that had extinguished the sun. All was blackness save for the flashes of lightning – wandlight from the attacking students. Harry felt the heat rushing out of his bones and heard the screams in his ears.

"Can - you - see - the - one?" Harry yelled over the din. His voice held hope, but his heart had none. There were at least a hundred Dementors swarming about, skimming across the hillside, trying to decide if the recently arrived wizards were to be feared or consumed. Harry saw a Patronus, the shape of an enormous owl, plunge into a group of about a half dozen Dementors and send them flying. About thirty yards away, near a stand of trees, Goldstein's wand was doing little more than lighting up the small clearing of grass in front of him. A Dementor was closing in on him when three students from Ravenclaw converged, simultaneously casting an _Incendio _spell and incinerating the creature. Harry's heart skipped. Could that have been—

"This way!" hailed Gabriella, pulling on Harry's arm as she held her eyes shut. She was pulling them closer to the pack. Harry conjured a stag that split the sea of Dementors, if only for a moment, the rift closing behind the bright beast as it passed through. But in that moment, Gabriella squeezed Harry's arm.

"Yes!" she said with more certainty. Her eyes still closed, she cried, "Follow me!"

They were plunging right into the heart of the swarm of blackness. Gabriella was moving more swiftly. She let go of Harry's arm and began to jog ahead. Harry followed, sending another Patronus ahead of her and splitting them away. Rather than focus on Harry and Gabriella, the Dementors seemed to prefer the easier prey near the trees and began to move away. He could hear the screams behind him as Gabriella pulled her wand and uttered something in Armenian. A white glow enveloped her, as if she held a star at the tip of her wand. She pressed on ever forward, her pace gathering speed, but her wand dimming as each new Dementor tried to penetrate her glowing shield.

"Hurry, Harry!" she called back. The terrain was rockier here and they were moving along the side of a hill. The further they moved along the more steep the incline grew, making it more difficult to traverse. Harry heard a collection of snaps behind him; the Aurors had arrived. He looked back at the great cloud of Dementors unwittingly racing toward the new collection of emotions. Just as he turned back to look at Gabriella, his foot slipped on a stone and his ankle twisted under his weight. He fell to the ground and tumbled a good twenty feet down the side of the hill, scraping the side of his leg badly before he came to rest.

He looked up and saw the flickering glow of Gabriella's wand disappear over the edge of the hill. Three Dementors swarmed over him – it was the last thing they ever did. Black blood sprayed all over the ground as Harry blasted his way through, grimacing from the pain in his ankle as he took each long stride. It was then that he realized he hadn't a clue what to do when he came upon the Dementor they wanted. Gabriella had said to use the stone, but how? And how would he keep the Dementor from simply fleeing? His ankle throbbing, Harry went past another large tree and came up over the side of the hill. The ground opened up beneath him, running down maybe twenty yards and then spreading out into a vast plain that stretched on until it disappeared into the dank mist of darkness. Sunlight was trying to penetrate the misty swarm of blackness casting an eerie red glow over the green landscape before him. It was then that his heart sank.

Just at the end of his field of vision, Harry could see the flickering glow of Gabriella's wand. Only now it was more flicker than light. About her were two Dementors, the only two to be seen and they were circling her like vultures. Each would swoop around and then plunge at Gabriella, only to bounce off from her failing shield charm. It wouldn't be long before—

The shield failed, and Harry heard her scream. A Patronus from this distance would do little more than distract the Dementors, but he cast it anyway. He was too far away to do anything else but run, and that's just what he did. He ran with all his might, pain stabbing at his leg with each strike at the ground as if a snapping snake were ever at his heels. He was perhaps fifty yards away when an enormous red light burst from Gabriella's wand, filled the air about her, and one of the Dementors burst into flame. Harry could hear its gurgling cries as it tried to fly away, but instead plunged into the grass starting a small fire, black smoke billowing upward. Harry was now twenty yards away as he watched the second Dementor crouch over Gabriella and he heard her screams.

There was a pop just off to his right. An Auror appeared, wand drawn.

"No!" Harry cried. The Auror looked only briefly at Harry, then set to cast a spell at the Dementor hovering over Gabriella.

"_Petrificus __Totalus!"_ called Harry. The Auror went erect and fell to the ground. Ten yards. Gabriella screamed again and this time Harry could hear the raspy wheeze of the Dementor as it tried to pull away her soul. With a great leap Harry jumped forward, wrapped his arm around Gabriella and the two of them rolled away from beneath the clutches of the Dementor. When they came to rest, Gabriella was on top of him; the golden necklace he had given her with the Gryffindor signet – a lion bearing two ruby red eyes – that came from Professor McGonagall hung round her neck and swung back and forth in front of Harry's face. He had remembered McGonagall's words: "For times of darkness." And then he heard the voice of Dumbledore, as if he were whispering in Harry's ear, only the whisper was coming from Harry's lips.

"_Really, Nicolas? An enchanted golden chain will trap them? I never heard of such a thing."_

The Dementor's growing wheeze was signalling its approach when Harry grabbed the tiny golden chain off Gabriella's neck. He rolled her to the side, feeling the cold approaching from behind. With one last great effort he heaved himself upward, tossed the chain in the air and cast a spell he had never uttered before, but one that Dumbledore knew. The tiny golden chain grew snakelike in shape and dimension, but its head was the head of a lion with flaming red eyes. With the flick of his wand Harry levitated the glowing, golden, lion-headed snake toward the coming cold, and it began to coil itself around the Dementor several times. Round and round, in less time than it takes to untie a shoelace, the Dementor was cinched tight from head to toe. Struggling to escape, the black beast could not move and ultimately fell to the grass.

"Harry?" Gabriella's voice whispered weakly from behind. "Harry?"

He knelt down by her side at once. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"The stone. Use the stone before the others come."

The vivificus stone had not been used since it was charged at the Joining. Singehorn had told Harry that fire was good but love was something far more endurable. And the stone, snuggled close to Harry's liver, was already covered in Harry's blood. All that remained was the incantation: "Bravery, Wisdom, Love."

In an instant, Harry found himself in what he had, in his own mind, decided was an antechamber of sorts. All was white, waiting for his request. For a moment his mind hovered on Gabriella, but he knew he was forbidden on using it to the advantage of another in the Votary. Instead, he called to the open nothingness, "Show me Dean's soul!"

He expected to see a swirl of colour, but instead he saw a swirl of black. His heart skipped for fear that he had done something wrong, but his own spirit held tight to the need to save his friend if at all possible. The darkness spread before him and in this emptiness a stench filled Harry's nostrils. It was then that he realized where he was, what he was entering – the life force of the Dementor.

Blackness and rot filled his vision. Strands of oily fibre hung from above and when Harry looked to see their origin, all that was visible was utter darkness. He was reminded of the crevasse into which he and Sirius had fallen and a very real part of him wanted to leave this place as quickly as possible. He was cold and growing colder as he forced his mind's eye to press onward into the depth of the Dementor's essence, an insatiable need to feed.

At first, the sounds were distant echoes coming from down a long tunnel, voices perhaps, or animals screaming. Harry moved toward the sound and found the darkness pressing in all around him. Though in here he really had no corporeal form, something wet and sticky splattered against his face; the desire to wretch was strong. Then he heard the sounds again.

Yes, they were screams, but human screams, calling just ahead. Floating deeper into the darkness, his foot tangled in something he could not see. He pulled and freed himself and then realized his teeth were chattering. _"This is not possible,"_ he thought to himself and now an even greater part of him wanted to return. _"I can't do this." _ He glanced back to see a tiny patch of white no bigger than a postage stamp miles away. He could be there and back to safety in the flash of a thought.

Then he heard a voice, clear and strong above the others, telling them to quiet down, to listen. It was familiar, but it wasn't Dean's. There was something nurturing about this voice, something that made one feel safe. Harry pressed forward. It felt like hours, although it was probably little more than the time it takes a star to twinkle, when he saw the faint golden glow ahead. He ached and felt that at any moment he would collapse and be trapped in this darkness forever. The voice called out again and his pulse quickened as he hurried forward. Against his body he felt the sensation of ice-cold hands pulling at his sprit, trying to stop him, but still he moved ahead. The cold was unbearable, the sense of fear was overwhelming, and that's when he saw him, towering tall above the others huddled in the black muck: Mr. Silverton. It was the same wizard from Hogsmeade that had tried to save Draco's life the year before, but had failed in the attempt. Harry had always seen him as a rather meek yet friendly man when he visited Hogsmeade, but here he stood taller than life, translucent in a golden splendour.

"Hurry, save the children!" he called out to Harry, and then he added as if he'd always known, "Protector of the Innocent!"

Harry looked down to see those huddled at Silverton's feet. They were there, nearly a dozen souls, children mostly. Each was translucent, each glowed bright, though some more than others. The brightest of these was the young black wizard, who seemed utterly lost. Dean looked straight at Harry, but did not recognize him.

"Help," he pleaded in a weak, raspy voice. "Where am I?"

"No one stays behind," Harry said to Silverton. "I'm taking you all." And without another word he reached out his hands and with his mind summoned the souls toward him. Silverton stood firm as if guarding the procession, guiding them toward Harry's summons. First, and most willing, came Dean, then a young girl with black hair… a boy with bright blue eyes… and on… and on…. Each soul came to… came _into_ Harry as if he were an enormous vacuum pulling them in. When the last left the mire at Silverton's feet the older wizard smiled.

"You have done well," he said warmly. "Release us now, and I will lead them home."

The cold was pressing in on Harry once again, fighting one last desperate attack to keep its precious treasure as Silverton floated toward Harry.

"H-Home?" Harry asked through chattering teeth. "H-Heaven? D-Dean needs t-to—"

"Release us, Harry," breathed Silverton as he became one with Harry.

"Home."

The blackness began to rush away with a great tearing sound. Harry felt as if his legs were being pulled backward by a tether that held him tight to the world behind. Flashes of varying shades of gray screamed past, and then with a tremendous _wooosh_ Harry found himself back in his body on the grassy field looking upward at the milky-blue sky.

"Harry!" Gabriella cried as his eyes blinked against the sudden brightness.

He felt dizzy, then strong, more powerful than he had ever felt. But then he realized why; he still held their life force. He could use this energy, this power in the war to come. _They could be victorious! _ Then, a slow sigh slipped past his lips, and before he lifted his head off the grass, he closed his eyes and whispered, "_Hhhh_ome." It was a long, slow, breathless word that sent chills down Gabriella's spine. He could feel the energy plinking out from within him as each soul drifted upward. Perhaps it was a hallucination, for Gabriella said later she saw no such vision, but before Harry the translucent bodies of all the children hovered for a moment just above him. They looked down, smiling when at last Mr. Silverton emerged. He took the small girl's hand and in the next moment they all rose above the treetops and disappeared from sight, Dean travelling with them ever upward.

Harry was certain he heard Dean's voice utter, "Goodbye."

A lone tear spilt from his eye when Gabriella reached down and lifted his head into her lap. Harry raised his hand and summoned the golden chain that surrounded the Dementor. "This is yours I think," he said softly.

"But—"

"It's dead," Harry answered before she could ask. And indeed the Dementor lay lifeless on the ground, deflated somewhat, as if it had been decaying there for months.

The air blasted with the report of two loud pops as a pair of Aurors appeared clad in red Ministerial robes. One noticed the Auror some yards away on the ground still stiffened by Harry's spell. The other reached down to help Harry and Gabriella to their feet.

"You can't stay here," the Auror said, then he noticed who he was speaking with and turned to his companion. "It's Potter!" He held Harry more firmly as if his life might depend on it. "You've got to return to the train. Miss, will you help—"

"Hey! He fired on—" the Auror that had been petrified began, but in that instant both Harry and Gabriella had Apparated back to the train.

They appeared in the corridor of the train, near the rear, and Harry stumbled to the floor when he landed. He hated Apparation, and this was his first attempt at hitting a moving target. If Gabriella hadn't been holding his hand… He didn't want to think about it.

He was a bit dizzy and disoriented, but he grabbed a carriage door handle and pulled himself up to his feet, taking a shaky step forward. "Dean," he muttered. "I've got to see if…" He knees began to buckle, but before he fell to the floor Gabriella grabbed his arm. He looked at her clenched hand and then at her eyes and smiled. "Thank you," he said softly. "Did I ever tell you that I thought you were brilliant?" Her face did not smile back. Her nerves were too wracked with concern as her eyes darted up the corridor.

"Yes, yes," said Harry. "Let's go."

Two cars down there was a throng of students that only parted when they realized who it was. When Harry made it to Dean's car, he stepped in to look straight in on Ron's back. His clothes were a mess of mud and pine needles, and the side of his shirt was torn, blotches of blood seeping through, red mixing with splattered black. His red hair draped down over an arm that was hugging him tight. It was Ginny's and she was crying. Harry's heart plummeted and he dropped his head; they had failed. _Dean had died._

It was then that he heard Gabriella give a sharp gasp as she gripped his forearm. He looked up to see her pointing at Ginny's hand. On her ring finger was the golden band Dean had given her, only now the firestone was glowing as bright as ever, shining through the strands of Ron's red hair.

"He's fine Gin; Madame Pomfrey will have him patched up in no time."

It was Dean's voice, talking about Ron. It was shaky but clear and Harry watched as two arms of deep chocolate wrapped around the redheaded brother and sister in a large hug.

"Dean?" choked Harry, his heart skipping out of his chest and the tips of his fingers and pads of his feet starting to tingle.

"Harry?" asked Dean from behind the Weasleys. Ron spun round and, as he did so, Ginny saw Harry. She immediately let out a squeal of joy. A second later her arms were around Harry, tears streaming down here cheeks and cheers rising up all around the train. Soon, they were all hugging. Word spread that the counterattack had been a success, at least with the help of the Aurors that had been guarding the train. If it hadn't been for—

"Where's Anthony?" shot Harry, realizing that the last he saw was what could only be called a herd of Dementors stampeding away from Harry and toward the Ravenclaw.

"Right here, Potter; no thanks to you."

Harry turned to see a very bruised and a very battered Anthony Goldstein. There was dried grass in his hair and a bit of blood at the corner of his mouth, and he still clutched his wand as if ready to cast another spell at whomever or whatever might cross him.

"Merlin's beard," said Harry, stunned. "You're alive."

"Cho said you weren't that smart," sneered Anthony with somewhat of a chip on his shoulder, "but I don't think she realized just how daft you really are." He was itching for a fight, but Harry simply smiled.

"You were brilliant out there today, Goldstein," said Harry loud enough so everyone could hear. "If it hadn't been for you—"

"That's the one!"

Everyone turned to see two Aurors in their embattled Ministerial robes making their way through the throng of students. One, the one pointing his finger at Harry, was promptly recognized. It was the Auror Harry had dropped in the field. He was holding the other Auror by the sleeve and pulling her almost against her will.

"That's the one, right there – with the glasses. I'd recognize the face anywhere. Greasy little git." The pair parted the crowd and were now right in front of Harry. "Thought you could get away with it, did yeh? Little prat. You could have had us all killed." Then he turned to the other Auror, a very tall woman with deep blue eyes and an expression somewhere between exasperation and exhaustion. She was about to say something when Anthony Goldstein stepped in front of Harry.

"Do you have any clue who you're talking to?" he asked with a smug air of superiority that almost sounded Ministerial. Certainly, Anthony was destined for great things in government. It was then that the woman recognized Harry, but the other Auror was having none of it.

"Get out of my way, you!" he shoved Anthony to the side, and almost at once there was a rush of students like a wave breaking against the shore filling the gap and forcing the two Aurors backwards.

"What's this?" the Auror yelled, and he pulled his wand. In response, over two dozen wands suddenly appeared pointed directly at him, inches from his face. The woman reached up to pull her companion's hand down just when there was another voice from the far end of the carriage.

"Strickman! PUT THAT DOWN!" If Anthony's voice was Ministerial, the new voice was all that and more. Strickman's eyes widened in shock. He'd heard this voice before, last year when he graduated from the Auror Academy. Everyone turned and saw the shock of red hair and knew at once who it was.

"Dad!" cried Ron, whose height gave him the better view over all his peers. Wands quickly found their way back to their proper positions as all the students tried to act as normally as possible, considering they had just been through a Dementor attack.

"Ron. Ginny." He was trying not to show that he was there to learn the status of his own children, but the tremble in his voice and the look of relief on his face were obvious for all to hear and see. "I came as soon as I heard." Then his eyes met Harry's as he moved past the two Aurors and a look of wonderment filled them. "Harry?" he breathed in disbelief. "I had heard you were taken. That your soul—"

"That was Dean, sir," answered Harry.

"Dean? Beasts of Bulgaria, not—" His eyes saw Dean standing next to Ginny. "I… I don't understand."

"Harry brought him back, Dad," Ginny answered her father's questioning eyes. "He brought his _soul_ back." Arthur Weasley looked at his daughter and saw that she was sincere. Then he looked back at Harry.

"That… that's not possible," he whispered. "Not even Dumbledore—"

"That's right, Minister," spat Strickman. "It's not possible! This little prat—"

"SHUT UP!" yelled Minister Weasley. "If you say another word, I'll have him do the same to you as he did to Voldemort!" The word stung many ears and there was a collective groan, but not as universally as there might have been the year before. Only then did Strickman finally realize who he had been calling a prat.

"P-P-_Potter?_" He began to apologize, not to Minister Weasley, but to Harry; he never had a chance.

"You're dismissed," shot the Minister, "both of you." It was the female Auror who was now doing the grabbing and dragging as she pulled Strickman by the back of his cloak and tossed him into the forward carriage.

"Here's your hero, sir," said Harry, pulling the grimy Goldstein forward. "He led the counterattack. If it hadn't been for him, I'd have never reached the Dementor that had Dean's soul."

Arthur was still struggling, trying to comprehend what it was that Harry was saying. Nonetheless, he patted Anthony about the shoulders and said, "Well done, young man. Goldstein is it? Yes, I know your mother. Runs a coven in Colchester." He gave Anthony, who was now beaming, another pat. "Well done." Arthur then turned and hugged his two children and then he said in a loud voice, "I'm glad _everyone's_ safe and I assure you the rest of your trip will be uninterrupted, if not completely boring."

With the bickering and fighting over, most the students returned to their carriages, muttering about the battle as they went, and the crowd in the corridor thinned. Arthur Weasley put his arm around Harry just as Hermione entered the train car.

"Harry, you're safe!" she cried. "They're saying you captured a—"

"Hermione," interrupted Mr. Weasley, "might I have a word with Harry… alone?"

"Oh, certainly, sir," she answered. And as Harry and the Minister started down the corridor he could see Hermione grab Gabriella's hand and heard her ask what had happened as they disappeared into the carriage with Dean, Ginny and Ron.

"Harry," began Mr. Weasley, "I need to speak with you about something very important. I was hoping to take you back to the Ministry with me right now, but under the circumstances it's perhaps best that you stay put. Once you're settled at the school, I'll call for you."

"What is it, sir?"

"Not here, not now, Harry. The walls…" Mr. Weasley smiled, but it was not a happy smile. "…the walls have ears."

"I don't hold much faith that the walls at the Ministry are any better, sir."

"No. No, I know you don't," answered the Minister as he stopped to look at Harry. "But this is something too important to discuss anywhere else, even at Hogwarts. I'll send for you in a week or so, okay?" Harry nodded. "And don't worry, Harry. Where we're going no one knows about. Not even I knew about it until just last week. But if what you say is true about Malfoy and the Dementors, and certainly this attack points to that, we must act soon and we must act decisively. It's time to take the offensive."

"You know I'll do whatever it takes," answered Harry.

"I know you will, son," answered Arthur. "I know you will. That's what frightens me."


	8. Engaged

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 8**** - Engaged**

**~~~***~~~**

The Snitch flitted upward, time and time again, only to be snatched into his hand after every escape. He was actually getting quite good at it really. Nearly twenty minutes without a—

"Damn!"

The Snitch slipped through Dean's fingers and began to zip about the boys' dormitory, bouncing off the wall above Harry's head. With blinding speed and catlike reflexes few but Ginny Weasley could appreciate, Harry had his hand around the winged orb.

"That was great, Dean!" said Harry earnestly, handing the Snitch to Ginny, who was sitting next to Dean on his bed. While Dean was practicing, Harry had been reading a story headlined _Miracle at St. Mungo's_ which described how nearly a dozen patients, all victims of Dementor attacks, had suddenly and inexplicably awakened – their souls intact. He turned the page with a smile as Dean continued to practice.

Madame Pomfrey had prescribed the exercise of Snitch snatching as a sort of therapy to help Dean regain control of his neuro-synapses. Ever since his soul had been returned by Harry, Dean was feeling somewhat disconnected from himself. It was hard to explain just exactly how he was disconnected. Sometimes he would reach for something, like a shaker of salt, and it would fumble through his fingers for no reason. Sometimes his love for Ginny was strong, while at other times it seemed as if he had no feelings for her at all. In Magical Arts, Dean would paint portraits of birds, animals, or even people, but the images wouldn't move; they remained lifeless on the canvass. It was all very strange, and no one, not even the Healers from St. Mungo's, knew exactly what to do.

"No one's ever had their soul reattached," Madame Pomfrey had said shortly after they had arrived at Hogwarts. Her solution was to try to re-stitch Dean's soul by having him exercise both body and spirit.

Ginny held steadfast at Dean's side; a lesser woman would have left at once. Watching the two of them these last few days, Harry had wondered if his love for Gabriella would be able to withstand such a test of faith. Somewhere, deep down inside, he felt it would, and that perhaps it already had, and he smiled as Ginny stroked Dean's back, encouraging him to try again.

"Nah, Gin," answered Dean, truly exhausted. "I'm… a bit tired."

"You're right, sweetheart," Ginny replied. "Rest a bit and we can go to dinner later."

"Thanks," said Dean with a weak smile. They kissed and Ginny turned toward the staircase leading down to the common room.

They had been at Hogwarts for three days and even though the familiar rhythm of classes and course work pulsed on, something was distinctly different. Maybe it was the attack on the train, the anticipation of what was to come, or simply that they were in their final year. Whatever it was, there existed, most certainly, a palpable sense of anticipation, as if at any moment something spectacularly wonderful, or devastatingly dreadful, was about to happen.

As Ginny stepped out of their room, Harry turned to Dean and said warmly, "She's wonderful, isn't she?"

"She's my world, Harry." He lay down on his bed, folding his arms behind his head. "I wish I knew why… sometimes…" Dean let out a large sigh and turned over on his side, his back toward Harry. Over the last year, Dean had grown confident in his relationship with Ginny, and Harry no longer shook the foundation on which their relationship was anchored. Dean continued, "I think… maybe this year at Christmas—"

There was a sudden scream from down in the Gryffindor common room. It was Hermione's scream; Harry was sure. Not an instant later, Ginny cried out, followed by a cacophony of screeches that rivalled the arriving owls during the morning post. In an instant, both Harry and Dean had their wands at the ready, and started cautiously for the landing. Just as Harry was about to look down on the common room below, Patrick appeared from the second years' dormitory, his wand also drawn and his face concerned. There was a third year passing Patrick and running in the other direction, trying to escape whatever danger was causing the commotion. Harry didn't recognize the boy from behind, but the thought of a coward in his house made the hair at the back of his neck bristle. "A Gryffindor?" Harry cried out.

The moment's distraction was enough to cause Dean to bump him slightly from behind. Harry tried to adjust his footing by stepping forward, only there was nothing on the circular staircase to step out onto. Instead, he completely lost his balance and began tumbling, down and around, head over heals, until he landed prostrate onto the floor. Dazed, he looked up to see Ron on the ground also. Well, almost… he was down to one knee, a look of pure terror in his eyes. Harry grabbed his best friend by the shirtsleeve and pulled himself up, aligning back to back with Ron.

"Where are they?" he cried to Ron over his shoulder, wand at the ready. Quickly, he spun around and saw Hermione looking down at him. "What's going on?" Harry asked excitedly. "Why did you scream?" Then, looking to the side, Harry noticed the large number of Gryffindors looking down at him, all with rather cross expressions on their faces. It was Parvati who stepped over and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him away from Ron.

"You idiot!" she hissed under her breath.

Her cheeks a brighter colour of red than Ron's hair, Hermione had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. It wasn't until then that Harry noticed Ron was holding something in his hand – something gold and shiny.

"Er… so, yeah then… Forever… together… till the end," Ron sputtered. "Well?" Hermione was about to say something when Lavender poked Ron in the shoulder.

"Well, what?" Lavender said sharply. "Go on, Ron. Ask her properly." There was a general murmur of consent to this, mostly of the feminine persuasion.

"Yes, go on, Ron," followed by, "Do it right."

"Bloody hell," Harry whispered, stunned by what he was seeing. Parvati pinched his neck and pulled him to his feet. Dean was stepping slowly down the staircase and came to a stop on the lower flight, wrapping his arm about Ginny's waist. She had been transfixed, but the warm touch caught her attention and she wrapped both her arms about Dean, smiling as she watched her brother propose.

"Yeah, yeah," said Ron, wiping his forehead with his left sleeve while still holding out the ring with his right. He was nervous, his hand was shaking, and Harry wondered if he wouldn't faint at any moment. But when Ron's eyes met Hermione's once more, the shaking stopped and he regained his voice. He held the ring a bit higher.

"As I was saying before our dearest friend dropped in," he cast Harry a glance and smiled, "would you do me the honour of being Mrs. Ronald Weasley." There was a pause. "Or Mrs. Ronald Granger… you know… however that's supposed to work, if you want to keep your—"

He never had the chance to finish. In that instant, Hermione was down on her knees kissing him deeply, and the common room resonated with a cheer that was heard throughout the tower. Later, even Hagrid said he heard the revelry when he was out feeding the venomous lava lizards.

"Well?" cried out Seamus. "Answer him proper!" To this there was rolling chorus of "Here, here!" called out mostly from those of the masculine persuasion. Hermione pulled herself away from Ron's mouth and he held the ring before her.

Hermione held out her hand and said breathlessly, "Yes!" There was another cheer, more resounding than the first, as Ron slipped the diamond ring upon her finger. They kissed again.

Harry wasn't sure who was responsible, but suddenly food and drinks appeared, and before you could blink music was playing, people were dancing and an impromptu party was in full swing in the Gryffindor common room. It was loud and boisterous, but Hermione had set a silencing charm on the walls, and outside of Gryffindor the night was quiet. Harry poured himself a drink and suddenly felt very awkward. Everyone was congratulating Ron and Hermione, hugging them, smiling. Harry sunk back into a corner. Why hadn't Ron told him that he was about to propose? He watched the smiles and the laughter, but somehow couldn't feel any warmth himself. Indeed, the thoughts that were passing through his mind brought back memories of the year before, bad memories of jealously and uncontrollable anger. He gulped the drink, and decided to pour himself another. He filled his glass and walked back to his corner, watching Neville help Dean back up the staircase to the boys' dormitory, when a voice startled him.

"Pretty amazin' ain't it?"

Patrick was seated in a chair against the wall. How long had he been there? Most of the younger students had gone to bed or were ushered away. A slow song began to play and Ron took Hermione in his arms. The candlelight in the common room dimmed and soon everyone was dancing. Harry watched as Ron and Hermione appeared for a moment and then slipped back into the crowd and, suddenly, he realized that things would never be the same.

"Yeah," Harry whispered back, taking another drink. "Amazing."

"I mean," Patrick continued, "to love someone so much." Still sitting, he pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around his legs, just gazing at the dancers. "Do yeh think he'd die for her?" The question was odd, but Patrick was young and Harry was a bit drunk, so he didn't question it.

"He'd die for anybody in this room," Harry answered with a strong tone of pride. "Merlin, he almost did last year, more times than I can—" Harry stopped and looked into his glass, drinking the remains in one final gulp. He could feel the burn of the fire-whiskey make its way down his throat as he stared at the empty glass and could feel his heart fill with guilt. How often had he put both of his friends in jeopardy? They would both sacrifice themselves to save Harry, and if the war was truly coming, and it was, Harry knew they'd risk life and limb once again.

"Do yeh think yeh'll marry Gabriella?" Patrick asked, filling the silence. Harry whispered something and the glass in his hand vanished. Patrick raised an eyebrow, but said nothing about the wandless magic.

"Gabriella?" Harry asked, looking blankly ahead. He chuckled to himself, but the laughter was more sad than happy. Already she'd risked her life and the school year hadn't even started. How many more friends would have to die before—

"I don't think I'll marry," said Patrick emphatically. "No kids fer me."

"I'm sorry?" asked Harry. Patrick looked up at him with an expression that was torn, shredded in some way Harry couldn't comprehend, at least not in his present state of mind.

"No kids. No orphans." Patrick uncurled his legs and stood up, walking over to Harry. "I plan teh fight, Harry. There's no room fer love if there's the chance yeh'll die."

"Patrick, that's not true."

"Ain't it? I won't leave grief behind. I won't leave my child without a da. Not like me parents did me. I mean, yeh were a baby fer Merlin's sake, and yer parents were out fightin' Voldemort. Why didn't they just leave well enough alone? Wouldn't yeh rather have 'em at yer side right now?"

Harry was warm, his head cloudy, and the familiar screams were calling from the fog in his mind. _It's not your battle, Harry. Let it go. _

"What is your problem!?" Lavender's voice snapped. She was only a few inches in front of Harry, and her expression was very cross. "Are you going to stand here all alone all night?"

"I was just talking to—" He turned to point to Patrick, but the boy was gone. Harry looked about the room and then to the staircase, but the second year was nowhere to be found.

"If you think they haven't noticed," hissed Lavender, "you're wrong." She grabbed him by the arm. "Now get out there and _pretend_ you're happy for them. Merlin knows you'll be the godfather to all their children; now start acting like it." Lavender pulled Harry onto the dance floor. "I never thought you'd ask!"

She danced with Harry, moving haltingly toward the just engaged couple, and then deliberately twirled her partner into Ron just as the song was ending.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron, smiling. "Whew, I could use a break; how 'bout you Hermione?"

"Some punch would be nice," she answered with a twinkle in her eye. She took Ron by the arm and they started to walk toward the snacks. Harry just stood there, his feet frozen. Finally, Lavender took him by the arm.

"Why, I'd love some punch too, Harry. Thank you for asking." She deliberately stepped down on his foot, hard, and then whispered in Harry's ear, "So help me, Harry Potter, if you ruin this evening for them I'll curse you from here to Durmstrang." A flash later, her face was all smiles as she squeezed Harry tight just behind the elbow and walked over to where Ron and Hermione were standing.

Someone else patted Ron's shoulder, and there was another hug for Hermione. Harry swallowed hard, moving closer between the well-wishers.

"I… I'm happy for you; for you both," Harry started as Lavender began to pour herself a cup of punch. Still smiling at Ron and Hermione, he took the cup out of Lavender's hand without asking and gulped it down in one swig. "It's fantastic." He took the ladle from Lavender's hand and poured himself another cup. "I mean… Wow! What a surprise." He gulped again.

"I was going to tell you," said Ron with a sincere tone of regret, "but I didn't pluck up the courage until you were at Grimmauld Place." Harry just looked at Ron like the answer made absolutely no sense. "You said you didn't want to be disturbed… remember?"

"Yes, I remember," replied Harry, turning his back completely on Lavender to face Ron. The heat was definitely rising under his collar. "But surely… on the train—"

"Blimey! You're joking, right?" Ron interrupted, drawing in Harry's irritation and reflecting it back. It was a dance the two had played many times before and Hermione took notice.

"Now, Ron, I think what Harry's trying—"

"And last night? Were you too busy last night?" Harry snapped, and then he remembered not seeing Ron last night. "Where were you anyway?" Hermione began to blush violently.

"It's none of your bloody business where I was last night," said Ron, his voice elevated. "You're not my keeper, Harry." At this he pointed his finger and jabbed Harry in the chest, pushing him backward. Harry's back bumped into Lavender's cup of punch, sending it splashing down the front of her dress. The two young men took no notice. Harry balled his right hand into a fist and pulled back, ready to let go.

"I should…" he began. Ron stepped closer, clenching his own fists and drawing them near his chin.

"You should what?" he challenged.

They stood there, toe to toe, for more than a few heartbeats; not too long, considering their hearts were pounding so quickly. Finally, a small smile shattered Harry's scowl and he let go. He threw his right fist past Ron's left ear. Ron saw the smile and returned the wayward punch with an undercut from his own right hand that flew past Harry's midsection and up under his left arm. The two clenched in a macho sort of way.

"You know I love you," Harry whispered in Ron's ear. "I love you both."

"I know," Ron answered quietly with a warm smile.

"I… I don't want to lose you. Not again." Harry pulled back so that his vision took in both Ron and Hermione. "Not now." Hermione stepped close. She remembered uttering the same words to Harry last year at the Ministry and she remembered what Harry had said.

"You're not going to lose us, Harry," she said, tenderly taking him by the arm. Harry grabbed her and pulled her into the hug. He'd had a little too much to drink and his words were taking on a tinge of regret.

"I want to see a dozen little bushy haired, freckle faced Weasley's running about. Do you hear me!?"

"Harry!"

"I want them to be as smart as Hermione and as loyal as… as…"

"As me!" Ron helped Harry finish. "And don't forget they'll be brilliant Quidditch players just like me too! Let's hope they don't take after their mother when it comes to flying, eh Harry?"

"Ron!"

Harry's eyes were beginning to fog with dampness. If they continued to fight by his side, he might lose them. Patrick was right; it wasn't worth it. Their children deserved to have both their parents. Harry squeezed both Ron and Hermione tightly toward him.

"It's brilliant. I… I just can't be here right now." He turned without saying another word, without looking at another face, and left the common room.

The halls were quiet; it was nearly curfew. A few students were wandering here and there, talking or making their way back to their dorms. Harry walked aimlessly down the stone steps and found himself near where Tonks had her old office last year. They had yet to learn who would be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. That class had been cancelled this morning. The lanterns dimmed a bit, signalling that it was time to return to the dorms, but Harry didn't hold much by that signal. He'd rarely obeyed it in all his years at Hogwarts, and he wasn't about to—

"Hey, Potter."

It was Blaise Zabini rounding the dark corner of the corridor and saying Harry's name without a drip of sarcasm. It was odd, Harry thought, to see Blaise so far off the beaten track, especially at this time of night. Cloak and dagger stuff wasn't part of Blaise's makeup. The handsome wizard was more comfortable standing in the centre of a group of others to be looked at and admired by others. He hung out with Draco on occasion, but never when it meant danger was about. That sort of stuff was for Nott, or Crabbe or G—… Greg. A shiver passed down Harry's spine as he recalled how his friend had died the year before.

"Blaise," Harry answered with a nod.

The two were passing by each other, shoulder to shoulder, when the tip of Blaise's wand touched Harry's hand. Harry felt a piece of parchment suddenly appear on his palm and his fingers curled around it. He stopped to look back at Blaise, but the Slytherin never stopped walking and never turned back to look at Harry. Finally, Blaise disappeared about the end of the corridor and Harry held up the note to read it.

_Do you miss me? Sorry about the ugliness on the train. Sent someone to warn you at the station, but an Auror intervened. I heard Weasles bought a pretty expensive ring in Diagon Alley. You two aren't engaged now are you? _

_Since I can't be there, my messenger is going to help be my eyes and ears at Hogwarts. Don't tell a soul or it may mean his life. Have you spoken to the old dodder about it yet? Hurry or it may be too late._

He had just finished when the lanterns went dark, signalling curfew. Instead of returning to the party at Gryffindor, Harry sat down on the stone floor and leaned back against the stone wall.

"_Lumos!"_ he whispered. He held up the note and read it again. Was it really from Draco? And what was he supposed to speak with Dumbledore about? What was it he had sensed during the Joining? Hol… Hor… Horcrux? It seemed so distant now. Perhaps it was some sort of secret weapon that the Dementors would use against the Centaurs. Perhaps it was—

"Out all alone, boy? Do you think that wise?"

Harry spun around at the words, jumping to his feet and preparing his defence. A dark figure emerged, dimly lit by the faint glow of Harry's wand.

"_Dakhil!"_ Harry hissed. What was the leader of the Votary doing here?

"Impressive." The word dripped with sarcasm. "I would have thought you would forget my name again the moment you returned to England." He drew nearer and Harry lifted his wand higher. "Put your wand away, boy," rebuked Dakhil sternly, "or I'll… let's see… What do they call it? I'll take points away from your house. Although why you would care about such meaningless games when the war is upon you is incomprehensible to me." Harry lowered his wand and the light was extinguished. They were in utter darkness.

"You can't take—"

"Oh, I believe any professor can—"

"You're not a professor! You can't… Oh, no." He leaned back against the wall and, in the darkness, noticed the thin hint of light emanating from a cracked door, the door to Tonks' office. Harry sighed. "Defence Against the Dark Arts, is it?" Harry could tell by the low grunt that a grimace had appeared on Dakhil's face. Clearly, he didn't like the idea any more than Harry.

"I'm afraid so," he answered. "And instead of taking points away, perhaps it is time for your first lesson." He spun his cloak and disappeared into the darkness. "Follow me, boy!"

Harry shoved Draco's note into his pocket, clenched his jaws, and followed. Once, after banging his knee, he tried to light his wand but was scolded by Dakhil, who insisted on total darkness. "Can you not see?" Dakhil sneered.

"I'm no vampire," retorted Harry. Dakhil stopped.

"There is an energy that binds all living things together, Harry. You draw from it every time you cast a spell. It pulsates on the wind as the breath of the trees; it bubbles from the soil crawling with worms and roaches. In the very darkest of places, it shines as a beacon to all who would call on its name. It is a skill all members of the Votary learn _before_ the Joining, save for you." Dakhil stopped. The odour was strong here, damp and dank and musty, with a strong sense of decay. "Even in death, life is reborn. Reach out to it."

"I can't see a bloody—"

"Not with your eyes, fool!" Harry heard Dakhil sit as an old wooden bench creaked under his weight. "What Soseh sees in you…"

"She uses more than her eyes, I suppose."

Harry had seen the life force emanating from the people he had tried to heal. It was like going to another plane of existence. He just needed to… "Focus," he whispered to himself. In the darkness, Harry closed his eyes and opened his mind, reaching out for anything, however small, that might indicate life. At first there was nothing, and then a bright glow began to appear, red and throbbing. "Dakhil," Harry thought. And then he saw it, the corridor they were in. Something was glowing on the walls. Mould? Spores? It was as if the structures surrounding them were splattered with an eerie fluorescent paint and lit up by a black light. "I see," he whispered in amazement.

"As long as one sees, one is never lost." Dakhil pulled his wand and a tremendous burst of light shattered against the wall, breaking through to open air. The two emerged from some broken down shack into the depths of the forest.

"The trees!" Harry said, looking at the white glowing pillars that climbed to the sky.

"Your enemies, even though they hide behind such grand structures, are brighter still. It is a crucial skill." With one hand, Dakhil pulled Harry out of the splinters of wood and stood him on his feet in the forest. "Now look up."

Harry looked to the sky. It was sprayed with stars of every colour imaginable. But in the centre was a blue glow brighter than all the others, a golden trail following it in the sky.

"Ebyrth," Harry whispered.

"Correct, _Mr. Potter_," said Dakhil, slapping Harry on the shoulder. He started walking past the trees back to the castle which glowed bright through the branches. "As I said earlier, your time to die is near at hand. You may not realize it yet, Mr. Potter, but, aside from both being in the Votary, you and I have one thing, at least, in common."

"And what's that?" Harry said with more of a sneer than anything else.

"We are both already dead."


	9. The Bending of Space and Time

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 9 ****– The Bending of Space and Time**

The rhythmic beating of Gabriella's heart lulled Harry in and out of sleep as she softly stroked the side of his head. He sighed deeply as she played with the hints of curls that wrapped about his shoulders. He forced himself to stay awake, if only to savour every moment that he was being held in her arms. Through drooping eyelids, he watched the lake vanish and reappear into view as his head rose and fell with each breath she took. The sparkling water brought to his mind the beaches of Lebanon and he visualized walking with her on the beach, watching the sea waves crash again and again against the shore. _It would be a perfect place to ask her,_ he thought. A gentle breeze brought with it the cool breath of fall and, for a moment, he thought he could smell the cool salt air of the sea. _Yes, the perfect place._

"We'll miss dinner," she whispered.

"I never want to move again," he muttered, barely opening his lips. Her hand slipped down to his shoulder and then stroked the muscles of his arms. They were sore and yet with her touch he could feel the ache ebb away.

"If you're going to keep working for Hagrid in the forest," she said more firmly, "you're going to need to keep up your strength." Her fingers slipped down to his side and playfully gave him a quick pinch.

"AYY!" he said, jumping. It was more tickle than pain, more peck than poke. "Not fair! I was… I was just going…" He closed his eyes and began to lay his head back down on her chest.

"Oh no, you don't," she said, pushing his shoulder back and sitting up herself. "I like what working for Hagrid's done to you." She slapped his stomach which held tight. "Besides, Mama would kill me if she heard I let you skip a meal." She rose to her feet. "Come on, let's get you fed." She held out her hand to help Harry to his feet. Her head was turned so that her gaze was not on Harry but on the castle.

An image of Grigor flashed across Harry's mind and a cold shiver ran down his back… He hesitated. _How could she know? She couldn't._ She was so much like her father, and for the briefest of moments Harry was taken back to the torture chamber at the Ministry -- the chamber where Sirius had been lost and found again, the chamber where Gabriella's father, Grigor, had held his hand out innocently toward Harry, just as Gabriella was now doing, only to bind him and prepare him for death.

He drew in a deep breath, shook the memory from his mind, and took Gabriella's hand, rising to his aching feet. They both shook away the dry leaves that clung to the bottoms of their robes and turned toward the castle. Harry could feel the sting in his legs as they climbed the castle steps. Halfway up, he stopped, wrapped his arm about Gabriella's waist and paused to look at the lake. She took it as a romantic moment and leaned her head against his shoulder. Harry, however, was too sore to step higher. Even Madame Pomfrey's potions weren't enough to remove the throbbing that worked its way into both muscle and bone. A nerve in his right thigh shot a jolt of pain up into his back and his gaze turned toward the forest.

Working for Hagrid? No. For the last few weeks, he'd been training with the Centaurs, but he felt uncomfortable sharing that with Gabriella. He had never been able to bring up a conversation with Gabriella about them without her making an excuse to change the subject. It was clear she did not like Centaurs, but she never explained why and Harry was unwilling to push the issue. Another twinge flicked down the muscle of his left calf and, recalling why his legs hurt so, he wasn't so sure he liked Centaurs either. His mind drifted back to his training earlier in the day…

"Jump, Harry Potter! Jump" cried Ronan. The red-haired Centaur fired an arrow that nicked the left heel of Harry's bare foot. "Speed is a Centaur's greatest ally. With it we can outpace the Dementors when they try to flee. Run!" he bellowed as Harry began to slow. "If one of our numbers needed aid, would you just _walk_ to his side?"

"I'm… not… walking…" yelled Harry back over his shoulder, as he ran from the Centaur barefoot through the forest. His lungs were bursting for air and his feet were on fire. He'd already run for kilometres; Ronan would make him run kilometres more. For his part, Harry had already decided that there was nothing the Centaurs could throw at him that he couldn't handle.

"Ayyy!" he cried, slashing his foot against a jagged stone.

"Run!"

Perhaps he was wrong.

He had been forbidden to use a wand, and wore naught but a thong made from strips of woven Casmen tree wrapped about his waist with a sheath for a small dagger he used to slash at vines and other vegetation that blocked his way as he ran. In one hand he held the dagger and in the other he carried a stone nearly too large to fully grasp. In battle he would carry a shield, but a stone was more awkward to handle, forcing more muscles to lift and control it. He was being trained as all colts were. In fact, there were two colts running far ahead of him already – Shahan, with a coat so dark Harry could no longer see him in the distance, and Felspar, whose bright white coat shone like a star ahead – way ahead. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he wiped his brow with his right forearm. Running blindly, he slashed wildly at a Tentacula that reached for his neck.

"You should have seen that, stripling, long before it struck at you!" cried Ronan, loping along. There was the sound of a _thwwwwp_ and a few paces ahead, Harry saw a large spider dead near the path he was taking, an arrow between its eyes. Looking back as he ran forward, Harry tripped on a root, twisted his ankle and fell to the ground, his left knee grinding into a collection of small stones. The fingers of his left hand were crushed between the stone he was carrying and the stones upon which he'd just fallen. The dagger fell from his right hand and skittered forward, but before it came to rest, Harry reached his hand forward and, without him saying a word, the dagger returned to his grasp. There was a slight grunt from Ronan. It was neither disparaging, nor approving. It was more a grunt of satisfaction, but Harry did not look back into Ronan's eyes to see if the satisfaction was directed toward him. His knees and hands bleeding, he stood to his feet and began to run again. Now, even Felspar was out of view. He'd taken only three or four strides before Ronan called.

"Stop!"

Breathing hard, Harry turned and for the first time all afternoon, he looked up into the Centaur's eyes.

"I… I can… catch up to them," Harry heaved.

"I know you can, stripling, but do you know how?" Ronan smiled, revealing a sly grin. Harry had never seen such a look on the face of a Centaur before. It was synonymous with a riddle.

"I hate… riddles," breathed Harry.

"Shahan and Felspar have been studying for decades the essence of Earth's mysteries. It will take them decades more to achieve what is already at your fingertips." The Centaur stepped closer, forcing Harry to bend his neck upward. A muscle twanged past his right ear. Still Ronan advanced until he was only inches from Harry, who could smell the strange mix of sweat and hair emanating from the Centaur. Ronan looked skyward.

"To see without eyes, to feel without fingers, to hear without ears, to taste without tongue…," he looked back down at Harry and tapped him on the side of his nose, "…to smell without nostrils. These are gifts you have already been given, and yet you know them not; you have but to unwrap them." With a movement that was but a blur to Harry, Ronan notched another arrow and shot at a large flying… _thing_ with large teeth that was advancing on them. It fell silently to the forest floor. To Ronan it was like little more than swatting a fly. He continued, "You must learn the power that took your sacrifice and cleansed you, the power that has no strength. What you must master, Harry Potter, what you must endeavour to achieve is to be without being." Harry scrunched his nose splotched with dirt.

"Did I say? I _really_ hate riddles," he muttered, beginning to catch his breath.

"Take my hand, child," commanded Ronan.

The moment Harry took the Centaur's hand, the world spun upon its head. Green and brown and yellow and gold flashed past them in a swirl of colours. Then, inexplicably, Ronan was gone, and Harry was suddenly running, loping, galloping. He felt giddy, proud, arrogant, childish…

"I told you the wizard was a fake!" he cried back over his shoulder. "Ronan's an old fool!" He kicked his heals and accelerated forward, the wind whistling past his ears.

"You're wrong!" yelled a voice from behind. "He's been chosen! Ronan said so!"

"Nothing but silly Centaur fairytales from a doddering old fool!" Harry yelled back, but his eyes were steadfast forward. The flag was ahead; he could see it, maybe three or four kilometres ahead. A smile split across his face, an arrogant smile; he was going to win this race and prove Ronan wrong, prove to all of them that HE,_ Shahan,_ was the Centaur that would save them from the onslaught of Dementors that was soon to come.

A voice whispered in Harry's ear. It was Ronan's. "You see with Shahan's eyes. Where would you _be_, Harry Potter?"

Harry looked back. Behind him was Felspar, the dazzling white Centaur that he'd been racing. Then he noticed his own haunches. They were black as darkest coal. He _was_ Shahan, the lead Centaur colt. But how? His head twisted forward toward the waiting flag and the gathering of Centaurs that watched to see if Ronan's prophecy was nothing more than wind and myth.

_Where would I be?_

"The flag," Harry whispered to himself, to Ronan, to the nothingness. He focused again. He knew how to get there with a wand: Vision, Pathway, Reconstruction -- Apparation. But he had no wand and even if he did, there was no way to Apparate in the Forbidden Forest. The flag, a red beacon in the distance, was now maybe two kilometres ahead of Shahan and probably five kilometres from where Harry's body stood breathless back in the forest with Ronan. He'd been practicing wandless magic all summer. What if…?

Harry willed himself from the eyes of Shahan and back to his own body. There was a snap – he had returned, his lungs still gasping for air and Ronan still at his side. Harry closed his eyes and his mind imagined the flag that was ahead; he envisioned _being_ there. Space and time began to collapse, swirling itself, revealing itself. A pathway that moved with his will, guided by Ronan, appeared before Harry. He took in a deep breath and stepped forward onto the path. The great span of distance between himself and the red flag suddenly collapsed. Felspar was just out of reach, Shahan appeared to be only a few paces in front of her, and the red flag appeared as just a few tens of metres away. Harry began to run. The colours of the forest swirled by him, as if everything stood still, including the two Centaurs. He ran past Felspar and then Shahan and, in an instant, he appeared only inches from the flag that marked the end of the race. He was surrounded by Centaurs of every colour, each with fierce eyes marked by only the slightest astonishment at his arrival. As he came to rest, he saw, in the distance, Shahan and, only a few strides behind him, Felspar. They were both galloping like the wind, swallowing up huge swaths of turf with each stride. They would be upon him soon.

Harry felt it was, somehow, a cheat. Could all Centaurs bend space and time? His eyes caught Shahan's in the distance, and the once confident, defiant gaze turned to one of near horror. He galloped faster, as if possessed, but it was no use. With one hand, his bloody left one, Harry reached up and pulled the crimson flag from its standard. There was a collective cheer as Harry held the flag over his head, spinning to show it to the gathering. It was then that he saw Ronan, standing in the centre of the group of nearly one hundred Centaurs. An instant later Shahan, pulled up at Harry's side, his breath heavy, his coat lathered with sweat.

"That's not possible!" he cried. "He… he used his wand!"

"No," answered Ronan, stepping forward from the others. "He used the skills you yourself may one day master, Shahan." Ronan turned to the other Centaurs. "He has been given the gifts." With this there was a general murmur and buzz of surprise and approval from the Centaur herd. Facing the others, Ronan flanked Harry, nudging him forward just as Felspar arrived, also out of breath, a gash upon her right front flank.

"I foretold of the coming star," Ronan called to the gathering. "And yet you did not believe. I sought out the Sacrifice against your will, and the waters returned him to us. Only once before has this ever happened, and when that battle was won so too began the Great Age of Centaurs!" Harry expected a cheer, but none came. Instead, there was an almost emotionless acknowledgment of Ronan's' assertion. "This," he pointed toward Harry, naked and bloodstained, his lungs still craving for more oxygen, "_this_ is our Sacrifice. Cleansed and returned, he shall lead us to victory!" Again there was little more than nods and stomps of the Centaurs at the gathering. No one refuted Ronan's claims.

"You're hurt," said Harry, approaching Felspar and looking carefully at the wound.

"It was a Bearwicken," said Felspar quietly.

"He's a fraud!" cried Shahan in a tone that was more animated than any Centaur Harry had ever seen. He stepped forward, pushing Harry aside, but Harry ignored the rudeness and focused his attention on Felspar. "He's no leader! He's a wizard! It's trickery I tell you."

"Let me help you," whispered Harry as he held his open hand a few inches away from the gash on Felspar's flank. Harry closed his eyes and muttered the incantation that he knew would work with his wand, and then something caused him to extend further, to reach beyond. His hand had not touched the Centaur, but he could feel the blood, slippery wet, between his fingers. He reached out without moving and willed the gash shut, and the gash obeyed, closing as if a curtain had been pulled shut tight about the wound.

"Like all wizards, he'll kill us all when we turn our back!" yelled Shahan again.

"The Chosen heals!" asserted a large, female Centaur from the gathering. She had a chestnut coat, but bore no bow about her shoulder. Her gait was proud as she stepped forward from the others. Harry did not need to be told that there was some importance about her. "Did the waters teach you these gifts or is this _wizardry_?" The last word was disparaging and even evoked some hisses from the others.

"Mother!" cried Felspar. "He's the Chosen. How dare you question his gifts!" Felspar, wound healed, turned to Harry and bowed low on one knee. "As long as Ebyrth shines, I am in your service. Only death will cheat us of time."

A number of other Centaurs followed in kind, each bending low to one knee and bowing their heads. Ronan approached Harry, nodding his head and bending to one knee as well.

"You still lack strength and endurance, Harry Potter, but these things can be learned. Now, it is time to rest." He held his hand to Harry's eyes. "Return to the forest's friend." Harry's mind immediately thought of Hagrid. _"Run!"_

The vision of Hagrid's cabin firmly fixed in his mind, Harry willed himself there. Again a path opened up and he took off running. Moments later, he found himself where he had begun the day, seated on Hagrid's chair next to the burning fire, Fang laying at his side and Hagrid singing some song in French. The logs on the fire cracked as Harry, still naked, looked at his Gryffindor robes that hung from a hook near the door. The way they were draped over the hook they almost looked real – lifelike, as if they contained some spirit all of their own. Harry's stomach churned just as Hagrid turned, surprised to find Harry in his hut.

"_Harry?"_

"_Harry? Shall we go inside?" _

Gabriella had spun around to face Harry, whose eyes were distant and bent on the far horizon above the lake. Her voice snapped him back from reliving the memory. He had learned something great today, and he'd learned it from the Centaurs.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Harry looked down into her eyes and smiled. He was sore and tired; dark rings hung under his eyes. The thought of going inside to face three scrolls on the healing plants of Kirkcaldy was almost too much to bear.

"They're not that bad you know," he whispered. Her eyebrows furled in confusion. "Centaurs," he added.

"Look, you're tired and it's time for dinner," she said, deliberately changing the subject. "We can talk about the stars later." Harry nodded silently and together they entered the castle and began to walk to the Great Hall.

Near a large suit of armour, Harry noticed Patrick talking to James Chang. James was leaning against the stone wall, his arms crossed as well as his legs. He was either extremely bored, or he didn't like what he was hearing. Still, Patrick was quite passionate about it; his arms were swinging wildly about and more than once Harry heard him raise his voice.

"It's gone I tell yeh! There nothin' there but dust. And there's no way I'm—"

James noticed Harry and Gabriella and stood straighter, stopping Patrick's story with a motion of his hand. Harry smiled and waved, and James returned the gesture with a smile of his own. Patrick turned to see who James was looking at and when he saw Harry, his face bore an expression of great concern.

"_No wonder,_" Harry thought, "_I feel like I'm going to blow chunks. I must look like hell._" As he and Gabriella continued toward the Great Hall for dinner, he felt more and more nauseous.

"Great," he muttered to Gabriella, who was picking up on his sudden change in emotion.

"I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey," Gabriella insisted. "Something's wrong." She turned him to the staircase.

"I can't climb those."

"I'll levitate you if I have to."

Patrick followed James into the Great Hall just as Ron and Hermione appeared from Gryffindor tower. They were headed, arm in arm, into the Great Hall when Ron noticed Gabriella trying to help Harry toward the staircase that led to the hospital wing.

"Harry?" called Ron. Quickly, he came over to Harry and helped Gabriella support him. Hermione was right behind him.

"What happened?"

"I'm fine, really," answered Harry, and in fact he was indeed beginning to feel better, although the floor was still a bit unsteady under his feet. They walked him over to a long bench beneath a large portrait of a great ninth century battle scene. Harry hated it there, he always had; the clang and crash of sword against armour was always deafening when the combatants weren't sipping tea together, discussing whose strategy was superior in the last battle. Ron noticed a bruise beneath Harry's collar and leaned in close to Harry's ear.

"You went out again today, didn't you?" he whispered. His tone was more angry than concerned.

"_CHHHHT_," shot Harry with a blast of air between his clenched teeth, trying to quiet is friend. Seated between a mind-reader and an empath, Harry had little hope of keeping anything secret, but he didn't want to discuss his training with the Centaurs in front of Gabriella.

"You said you'd take me," complained Ron. "_'The next time I go,'_ you said." Ron crossed his arms. "I thought maybe this year would be different." Harry opened his mouth to explain.

"Ron," injected Hermione, "they'd just as soon skewer you as anything else. Harry's just trying to protect you."

So, Hermione knew. So much for Ron's sworn oath that he wouldn't tell a soul. Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head knowing that Hermione was only partially correct. She was right about the _skewer_ part, but Harry knew at once Ron would take the _protect_ part the wrong way. He did.

"I don't need Harry's protection! We're at war!"

"Ron," Harry began, holding up his hand, "the thing is—"

"_Skewer_ you?" asked Gabriella. "What are you talking about? Was Hagrid making you work with Stabbing Snapspiders again?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed on Harry, whose own gaze darted away to look at Ron who was ignoring Gabriella's question and was now standing in a huff and about ready to storm off. Harry stood too, the dizziness he was feeling all but gone.

"Ron," Harry said, taking hold of Ron's arm, "I said you would go with me the next time _I could_. This morning I asked _you know who_, and they said I had to go by myself. I had a test… of sorts."

"Test?" asked Ron, now with more interest than anger.

"They?" asked Gabriella, taking to her feet.

"This morning you were supposed to help Professor Barghouti's second year class for their DADA lesson," scolded Hermione, also rising.

"What kind of test?

"Who are _they_?"

"Didn't you hear what happened to little Nolie Langston from Slytherin?"

Harry feigned dizziness again and tilted in toward Ron who grabbed him by the shoulders. "I think I need to eat," he muttered, and then leaning closer he whispered to Ron, "_Saturday._" Gabriella knew he was feeling fine; she could sense that. Hermione knew he was feeling fine; she'd read the Harry Potter book long ago. Both women just glared, while Ron was steadfast.

"Can't you see the man's exhausted? He has to eat!" he exclaimed. "Blimey! Give him a break for Merlin's sake." He put Harry's arm about his shoulder. "Come on, mate. Let's get you a bite and then we can go over the weekend's _practice_ schedule. I know Ginny's been playing fine as Chaser and all, but I think if…."

In the Great Hall, Dumbledore had the houses sit wherever they wished for breakfast and lunch, but for dinner each house ate at separate tables from the others. It was a compromise between the vision of the future and a respect for tradition. Tonight, Harry was grateful because it meant, for a while at least, that he and Gabriella would be separated. As they entered the Great Hall she kissed him on the cheek, holding his left hand. He toyed with the golden ring he'd given her the year before on Valentine's day. There was a twinkle in her eyes and a sly smile upon her face.

"You _will_ tell me later?" she asked, but the tone was more suggestive of a statement than a question.

"You know already. You just won't talk about it." His smile had a tinge of sadness as their fingers let go of each other. Her twinkle faded and her eyes would not hold his gaze as she turned away. Harry did not look back as he followed Ron to the Gryffindor table.

Lavender and Parvati were having an animated conversation about the meaning of a large stain on the tablecloth. Parvati had spilt her drink and it had left a dark, twirling outline of something resembling, at least to Harry, a large toadstool. He sat down realizing he did, very much, need to eat.

"It's a Celtic spiral," said Lavender, her finger tracking the outline of the top of the toadstool.

"A Crane," countered Parvati, pointing at the long crooked neck of the toadstool.

"That makes no sense," said Lavender. "No, it's a Celtic spiral and," she pointed to some dark inner spots, "with these here it would represent eternal life."

"No. See this here? The way the whorls dissolve away? Not eternal life… life, death, and rebirth. It's clearly a crane," Parvati said, pointing out the bird's features. "Here are the eyes, the curled neck, the long legs." She grew more confident with each description.

"Then you're both right," chimed in Hermione. The two young ladies looked up, stunned expressions on both their faces. "The crane represents longevity. Eternal life… longevity… same thing." She shrugged her shoulders and took a bite of dinner.

"NooOoo," both Parvati and Lavender harmonized in a rather long and melodious tune. "It could mean deception if—"

Deliberately, Harry _accidentally_ spilled his tea onto the stain, covering up any discernable detail. The liquid began to pour off the edge toward Parvati and Lavender and they both took to their feet.

"That looks like a murky pond to me, Harry" said Ron, chewing on a stick of bread. "See the large ripples flowin' down the table."

"Honestly, Ron," sighed Hermione, whisking out her wand and vanishing the tea and stain together.

"HERMIONE!" cried Lavender.

"How could you!" scolded Parvati.

"_ME?_" queried Hermione, clearly flummoxed. "But they—"

"Come on, Lavender." Parvati spun on her heals and took off, Lavender right behind her, but not before she shot a scathing glare at Hermione. No sooner had they left the table than Ron let out a snort, a piece of bread shooting from his nose.

"Ronald Weasley, I should…"

"Honestly, Hermione, Harry just wants to eat. You can't begrudge the man his peace after all he's been through today." Ron took another bite of bread and looked at Harry's plate. "Are you going to eat those?" he asked pointing at some chips. Harry just glared back. Ron shrugged and took another bite of bread.

"And as for you," Hermione continued, now turning to Harry, "you better tell Gabriella straight away what you're up to, or it'll spoil what you both have." Setting down his fork, Harry looked up at her.

"Oh, right, and you two are the poster couple for honest and open discussions."

"Harry," said Hermione without losing stride, "you know there's something bothering her. You need to find out what it is."

"Don't you think I've tried!?" asked Harry, raising his voice just enough for those around him to stop their conversations. He knew he hadn't, not really, but he also knew that Hermione didn't know that. Her eyes simply looked into his, probing, her expression calm. The look was unnerving because he knew his own expression was giving him away. "Well I have," he insisted, pushing his plate away for good measure.

He wasn't sure the drama was having the effect he wanted. Ron simply nipped one of his leftover chips and Hermione only let out a long disapproving sigh. Past the point of return, at least for this argument, Harry stood up and left the Great Hall in as foul a mood as he could muster. His mind focused on the Gryffindor table, he didn't notice the Slytherin that stood as well and followed him out of the Great Hall.

Harry was moving down the corridor toward Gryffindor when he heard the footsteps behind him. He stopped and turned; only no one was there. He looked over past a suit of armour and then behind a pillar – still no one. Tired, if not completely exhausted, he continued toward Gryffindor and his awaiting homework. He was nearly at the portrait of the Fat Lady when there was a tap on his hand and a whisper in his ear.

"Your days grow short."

Harry felt the note appear on his palm and spun at once.

"Blaise?" he whispered back, but there was no answer.

Harry unfolded the piece of parchment. "_They think it's at the Ministry. Is it?_" was all it said. The portrait swung open and Harry quickly moved to hide the note, only he didn't have to. It flashed in a puff of smoke and disappeared. Neville stepped out of the Gryffindor Common room followed by the most unlikely of faces – Severus Snape. Strangely neither took much notice of Harry. Beyond a slight head nod by Neville, it was as if he didn't even exist.

"The thing is, Professor," Neville was saying as he walked past Harry, "if the two roots are to have the effect you want, they'll have to be grown to exactly the same length."

"Quit restating the obvious, Longbottom," replied Snape without so much as a nod toward Harry as he went past. "The question is, can you do it?" Neville scratched his chin as they disappeared down the corridor.

"I think so, with the right light. If I can borrow some…" and the conversation faded away.

Amazed, Harry shook his head and turned toward the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Password?" she asked with a smile.

Just before he answered, Harry paused, scratching his chin much as Neville had just done. _What was at the Ministry? The Horcrux that Draco had mentioned? Whatever that was._

"Erm, sorry," said Harry, "changed my mind." He turned and headed back down the corridor, wondering if his secret note giver was still nearby. As much as he hated the thought of climbing back up the staircase, he had to go down and speak with Dumbledore. Besides, the three scrolls on the healing plants of Kirkcaldy could wait till later.


	10. Visions

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Chapter 10 – Visions

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… Tink._

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… Tink._

The silver instrument rose and fell on Dumbledore's mahogany desk as Harry stroked Fawkes' feathers, waiting for the headmaster to return. Not much bigger than a breadbox, it was a strange collection of gears and springs and Harry spent some time trying to deduce its purpose. The contraption, rimmed with winged creatures Harry couldn't recognize, reminded him of a similar device in the Black family estate at Grimmauld Place. It too had the same circular rings that ran up a notched staircase, only the Black device was golden, its winged creatures looked more menacing, and Harry had never seen it work.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… Tink._

Shot by a spring, another silver ring ran up the staircase only to reach the top, falter, and fall into a pile below. The pile seemed to be shrinking as Harry stood watching, but he could not see where the rings disappeared to, nor could he discover the source for the rings that sprung forth from the bottom. There it was – a never ending procession that seemed to have no purpose.

_Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… _

Unable to contain himself, Harry reached out and grabbed the silver ring before it had a chance to fall from atop the small staircase. The scene changed and he suddenly found himself on the Hogwarts Express walking toward the front of the train, two paces behind Greg Goyle. But, this couldn't be – Greg was dead. It took him a moment to realize that he'd travelled back in time. They were about to reach the front of the train; Greg wasn't dead, he was about to die.

Harry tried to speak, but no words came. He tried to reach his hand out to stop Greg, but it would not move. Unable to control his movements, Harry could do nothing but watch history unfold as it had last year. He poked his head into a carriage, telling a group of fifth years what was up.

"I've been wondering what was taking so long with the food trolley," said Ernie Macmillan. Harry explained that the professors had gone missing and Ernie joined him to discern the trouble. As Harry slipped back out of the carriage with Ernie, Goyle took the point and started toward the front of the train. Once again Harry tried to stop his friend when, through the glass doors leading to the box ahead, Harry saw a witch in dark robes suddenly appear in the corridor. _Anaxarete._ Harry wished he could cast a killing curse, but it was no use; he could do nothing. She glanced back, revealing a sinister smile and piercing green eyes. Harry tried to place himself in front of Greg, but was unable to pass his broad shoulders. It didn't matter; an instant later she was gone and an instant after that the front of the train exploded with a tremendous white flash.

Harry fell to the floor of Dumbledore's office, the silver ring firmly clenched within his hand. He was shaking, the explosion still ringing in his ears, when he opened his eyes and found Dumbledore looking down at him. The headmaster bent with difficulty to one knee and held out his hand.

"I take it you did not find yourself in one of Professor Binns' lectures, Harry?"

Harry took Dumbledore's hand and rose to his feet. He held the ring out between his thumb and forefinger.

"What… what is it?" he asked, still shaken. Dumbledore took the ring and placed it back atop the silver staircase.

_Tink._

It fell into the pile below, which now was growing larger as Dumbledore stood and spoke with Harry.

"It is a memory book of sorts… a photo album." Dumbledore moved to his desk and sat down, leaning back against his chair. "Different for each who reads it."

Harry couldn't help but think that the greatest wizard of the age was beginning to show signs of wear. He had grown much thinner since Harry last saw him at the end of the school year, and his hands were beginning to curl in an unnatural way.

"Like a Pensieve?" Harry asked.

"Not quite, Harry," replied the Headmaster. "A Pensieve lets you store or remove your memories so that you can look them over later on. You can select the memory to remove, to examine." He leaned forward and held his hands together. "This is a Möbius Machine. It reflects a wizard's life history. It is a never ending loop that plays over and over again, shrinking or expanding to suit the viewer. Each silver circle is a ringlet of a portion of your life. While the rings play in order, there is no way, unfortunately, to determine which memory, which life experience you will visit."

A shiver went through Harry again, and for a moment he thought he felt the breath of death whisper its name against the nape of his neck.

"I take it, Harry," continued Dumbledore, "that your experience was not a pleasant one."

"No, sir," answered Harry, sitting himself. "It was… on the train; when I was with Greg, just when… just when…"

"I understand." Dumbledore sighed. He stood and walked back to the device. He waived his wand and uttered an incantation and the rings stopped running up the staircase, and fell wherever they were in the cycle. "I wish your memories could be happier, Harry. I would hate to see you as a tottering old man, sitting down in a dusty office wondering if you could risk reliving the tragedies that grasping a few rings might bring." Fawkes quietly vocalized his agreement, as Dumbledore slipped his wand away and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I know you have been chosen, Harry. But you need not place yourself between the Centaurs and the Dementors; it is not your war."

"You said it yourself, Professor," said Harry, looking up into Dumbledore's still bright blue eyes, "it's the paths we choose that make us who we are. I'm not doing this because I was chosen. I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do. Lucius Malfoy is going to use this to try and sweep the darkness back across this land, and I won't let him." Harry's own eyes were fierce with determination and defiance. "I've been training with Ronan." Harry paused. "Are Centaurs magical?"

"Very much so, Harry," said Dumbledore with a smile. "It is folly for wizards to believe they are the most powerful creatures on this earth. You know, of course, Centaurs have keen sight and are skilled with a bow, but these things are _physical_ skills that many wizards dismiss. Ahh… not so, Harry… not so. Why do you think a Centaur never misses his target?" Harry shrugged. "Because a skilled Centaur can follow the arrow all the way to its destination, nudging its flight along the way. They can bend space and time, Harry. Even while wizards are unable to Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, Ronan can disappear and reappear wherever he pleases simply by using his mind."

"He showed me today. He taught me today."

Dumbledore said nothing. Harry could tell by his expression that he was impressed, or surprised, but the old wizard made no word of it. Instead he stood from his chair and walked over to his telescope.

"They are much better stewards of such skill than wizards would ever be," the aged wizard whispered, looking down into the lens of the telescope. The instrument was fixed on the portion of the sky through which the comet Ebyrth was now passing. Harry no longer needed a telescope to see the comet's bright tail.

"It is not your war, Harry," said Dumbledore still looking into the lens. "The Ministry can handle the likes of Lucius and his ilk." He adjusted the focus. "They have no strength in numbers, no allies for support, no sanctuary in which to hide. It's only a matter of time."

"Then why haven't they been caught?" asked Harry. "It's been months, and nothing."

"Lucius is no fool," answered Dumbledore. "He'll remain hidden for as long as possible and only strike when he thinks he can win." The wizard looked up. "He can't win, Harry." But Harry wasn't so sure. He turned his back on Dumbledore and walked over to Fawkes, stroking the bird's feathers. Harry didn't know how to bring it up, but he had to ask.

"What if… what if he had a weapon? A secret weapon?"

"Secret weapon?" asked Dumbledore, turning to face Harry more fully. "What do you mean?"

"A… A Horcrux."

The portraits that were earlier minding their own business, napping, reading the paper, or off to some other place were suddenly thrown into a tumult. The headmasters of old began complaining at once about the impudence of the young man to discuss such matters here.

"It's an abomination, Albus!" one cried.

"Lucius is cunningly evil," called Phineas, "But he would never crawl to such depths."

Dumbledore finally quieted them all by threatening to bring down a sheet of darkness. His face was grave, almost pale and the tone of his voice was filled with great concern. Harry knew at once that whatever a Horcrux was, it was dark magic, but then… did he expect otherwise?

"Harry," began Dumbledore slowly, his voice quite and sombre, "what makes you believe that Lucius Malfoy would employ a Horcrux?" Harry turned away from Dumbledore, not willing to maintain eye contact. "Certainly such news does not come from our friends the Centaurs."

"Well… I… I heard that…" He stalled and then turned back to face Dumbledore. How could he know how one _employed_ a Horcrux if he didn't even know what one was? "Professor, what _is_ a Horcrux?" Dumbledore walked back to the silver machine that was now quiet on the table. He tapped it with his wand and the silver rings began to roll again. He took a ring and held it in his hand for but a moment when he laughed and placed it back along its path.

"Precious," he whispered to himself. "So precious."

"Professor?"

"It was the day when Professor McGonagall asked me if I enjoyed teaching at Hogwarts. She was thinking of applying to teach here as well, but wasn't sure if her husband would agree."

"Husband?" asked Harry incredulously. "Professor McGonagall was married?"

"Oh yes, Harry," answered Dumbledore. "And very happily I might add. He was killed by a Death Eater when Voldemort first returned. She joined the Order of the Phoenix soon after. Since then, she's been our strongest ally against the darkness." This new news had Harry's head spinning just a bit. He'd always assumed…. Dumbledore turned back to the silver machine. "Can you imagine what it would be like if Professor McGonagall did not have the memory of the murder of her husband?"

"I… I suppose she'd be happy."

"But she is happy, Harry. Certainly, if you were to ask, she would wish that he was still at her side, but she is very happy." Dumbledore's hands squeezed the wooden table and he drew in a deep breath. When he turned to look back into Harry's eyes, his face was grave and his own eyes stern. "What I'm about to tell you, Harry, is not supposed to leave this room." Harry glanced toward the door as if there might be someone there. "Harry, I know with whom you would like to share. You should know that it is forbidden. I would not even speak of it with you, had you not brought it up first. Do I have your word?"

"Yes, sir," replied Harry, his voice smaller than he thought it should be. He began to wonder if he should have ever asked. Dumbledore stepped close.

"Imagine for a moment that I could split you into three people. Not copies mind you, but three distinct parts of your very essence… your soul. One would stay with the body you now possess; the other two would be put away for storage you might say. If you, the part of you that inhabits the body you now have, were to die, one of the other parts would seek out another body to inhabit… to control. You, part of you, would live again."

"Part of me?"

"The part that you hid away." Again Dumbledore turned to the machine on the table. "The pile of rings that you see in front of me here, Harry, is larger than your was. Why?"

"You have more memories, more experiences."

"Precisely! But a split soul would only take with it portions, shadows of the memories the original soul carried. Imagine, my boy, if you had to choose… what portions of your soul would you carve away? What part of you would remain? There are many choices. You could carve out the bad memories, perhaps the death of Greg Goyle, and go on believing that he had never died? But then, what would happen if you were to die, and the Horcrux storing only the bad memories was released? What sort of soured soul would remain?

"Then there are those wizards who believe that it is the tragedy of a wizard's life that drives him forward? Such a wizard might keep the tragic memories at the ready erasing all joy and happiness, such as, perhaps, the day you first arrived at Hogwarts?

"And it's not just memories, Harry. It's also the essence of who we are, what we have become, both good and evil, darkness and light. A wizard must decide how to separate each slice of joy and sorrow into tiny pieces, sprinkling a little bit of everything into each portion of your soul, splintering all you ever were into shards of fogged glass that can never really be made whole again. Tell me, Harry, what choice would you make?"

"I… I wouldn't choose such a life, sir," replied Harry, horrified of the thought.

"No, Harry, nor would I." Dumbledore's shoulders drooped slightly as if a large weight sat square upon them. "Thankfully, most wizards and witches would refuse to choose it as well. Fewer still know that there is such a path one can take; and only the most powerful of those would be able to take it." Suddenly looking quite tired, Dumbledore returned to the chair behind his desk and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes. "The Horcrux is simply the storage vessel… it could be a rock, a cloak, a cup—"

"But Lucius—"

"Think, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "It might even be a book…" There was a long pause. Harry could hear a number of the portraits on the wall mumbling to themselves. Clearly they were unhappy with the direction of the conversation, particularly Phineas.

"The diary?" Harry finally answered, his voice more certain than uncertain, and with each new question the uncertainty vanished. "Tom Riddle's diary? That was a Horcrux? Voldemort used a Horcrux."

"Lucius is cunning, ruthless and evil, but I have seen deeply into his eyes. He could not master the Horcrux even if he desired to."

"But I saw Voldemort die," said Harry. "There was nothing left."

"Yes," said Dumbledore, nodding. "You also saw Tom Riddle die in the Chamber of Secrets. I had always assumed he had divided himself in two. Who would risk fracturing themselves more than once?" Dumbledore chuckled to himself grimly. "Who indeed?" Then he turned back to Harry. "This news palls the horizon with a new darkness. Tell me, Harry, why you believe that someone is employing a Horcrux because, if someone is, Voldemort is most certainly behind it."

Again, Harry found himself turning away. He didn't want this news. He thought it had something to do with Lucius, with the war that would soon be upon them. He didn't want to believe what he had felt all summer, what he had felt since returning to Hogwarts, that Voldemort was somehow still alive. But where? How? Harry, his eyes sincere, looked back at Dumbledore.

"Sir, I… I can't. I gave my word." Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and then, quite naturally, he smiled back.

"Well, I suppose if you told me, then your promise to keep our conversation of the Horcrux private would mean nothing."

"If it does exist," Harry said anxiously, "we have to find it before it's too late."

"Harry," said Dumbledore with grave concern, "such waters are filled with Grindylows and Inferi." Harry looked at Dumbledore, confused.

"Inf—?"

"It's far too dangerous for you to begin some journey to search the world for a Horcrux. Voldemort's been to the edges of the globe and beyond; it could be anywhere. More likely, it has already been activated. No, I will speak with the members of the—"

"Sir, you can't. I swore that I'd—"

"Relax, Harry, there will be no need to mention your involvement. In fact, it's more to our advantage to keep your name completely out of the picture."

Dumbledore breathed in deeply and closed his eyes as he slowly let out his breath. "Yes, I think I understand. He didn't just split himself in two. He may not have stopped at three. There's no telling." He walked over and stroked Fawkes' feathers, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "I despise secrets, Harry, but if Voldemort has reanimated he may, once again, have agents working within the school walls. I'm sure Lucius does. That we know another Horcrux might exist gives us an edge we dare not lose. Do you have any idea—" The chimes of the great clock struck twice.

"Oh dear," said Dumbledore. "I've made you late for class." He paused, struggling for the briefest of moments about what to say next. "You best be on your way. We can continue this later. Tell Professor Barghouti it was all my fault and I'll confer with him about it later."

"But—"

"Go on, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore.

Harry sighed, grabbed his books and started for class. Just as he was about to wave his hand across the large brass doorknob, Dumbledore stopped him.

"Harry, there are those that we can trust—long-time friends and soul mates. I understand that you may be compelled to seek assistance. If you must discuss this, keep the conversation within the walls of Gryffindor." Harry paused for a moment, taking in the headmaster's words.

"But that means—"

"You know what it means. Now, be on your way."

As Harry walked down the corridors toward the Defence Against the Dark Arts class, his mind was spinning with the new information and trying to digest everything that Dumbledore has shared with him. _Within the walls of Gryffindor._ Even though this year students were free to enter the Common Room of any house into which they were invited, Harry knew exactly what Dumbledore meant; he shouldn't trust Gabriella. He pondered how he would keep Gabriella out of any discussion he might have with Ron or Hermione concerning the Horcrux. Maybe he was better off not saying anything to anybody. His concerns about Gabriella faded quickly, however, when he arrived late to class and Professor Barghouti took ten points away from Gryffindor for Harry's tardiness. He wouldn't let Harry say a word about where he was or who he was with.

Normally, Harry arrived early to class so that he could sit in back. He, like the majority of the class, wanted to sit as far away from Professor Barghouti as possible. For most students it was because their professor was a vampire; Harry simply didn't like him. Every time Harry looked into his eyes, he felt that he had to prove himself worthy; that he was somehow lacking when it came to the Votary. Now, having arrived to class late, Harry had to sit in front next to the only other students who would: Hermione and Gabriella. Harry took his seat next to Gabriella who offered him a supportive smile after he was chastised by Barghouti about time management.

"Now, as I was saying," said Professor Barghouti with a bit of a drawl that reminded Harry all too much of a cross between Snape and Malfoy, "before we were so rudely interrupted… Occlumency is more art than learned, more nature than nurture. Nonetheless, even the most inept wizard," he looked at Harry, "can learn to repel at least rudimentary attempts to penetrate the mind. Fortunately, most of you are sorely lacking as Legilimens." Barghouti stared once again at Harry.

"I want each of you to find a partner and while one tries to penetrate his partner's mental defences the other will use the techniques you described in last night's homework assignment. For those of you who found the assignment too tedious and chose instead to practice Quidditch," again he looked at Harry, "expect to spend the evening with Madame Pomfrey as she treats your headache."

"But, Professor," complained Hermione while raising her hand.

"Yes, Ms Granger?"

"What if people don't want to have their minds read? It is, after all, a violation of personal space."

"True, Ms. Granger; it is a violation. But then, so is the Killing Curse and we've learned to defend ourselves, as best we can, against such an attack. Would you prefer to have your thoughts read freely by Lucius Malfoy's spies? Have them know your plans so that they can kill you or your loved ones when you least expect it?"

"But—"

"Pair with someone you trust," he interrupted. "We'll talk of this no more."

Hermione's lips pursed as she crossed her arms. Harry knew that look. Still, he didn't think that it was such a big deal. Instinctively, he paired with Gabriella. Ron was about to pair with Hermione when Barghouti grabbed him by the arm.

"I think not, Mr. Weasley. I understand you're quite gifted in this area. Today, you can be _my_ partner." Barghouti offered a rare smile and both Ron and Harry expected to see his fangs, but all that appeared was a straight row of bright, pearly teeth.

Harry turned his desk about and sat opposite Gabriella. He had let her into his mind many times before. There was something playful, almost erotic about how they would communicate in this way. While she had become quite adept at curling herself around Harry's thoughts, she never went deeper than Harry offered. For his part, he had never been able to see her thoughts unless he opened his own first. They always had to play in Harry's mind, and he had never tried to push her away. She was smiling at him, a twinkle in her eyes, as she took his hand in hers. It wasn't until their hands touched that his heart skipped. Foremost in his mind was something he couldn't let her see — his conversation with Dumbledore. His hand pulled away; he couldn't stop her from sensing his emotions, but he could stop her from reading his mind.

"Harry," she asked, sensing immediately his emotional shift, "what's wrong."

"Erm… N-nothing," he answered evasively. "I… I mean we already know you can get into my head. How 'bout I try to get into yours first?" She said nothing, trying to put his words in alignment with the feelings she was sensing. "That's okay, isn't it?" he asked.

"Sure," she said slowly. She reached out her hands again, but Harry placed his own in his lap.

"Erm… Let me give it a go without contact."

"You know you can't."

"I can try," he shot back with a bit of defiance. His voice was heated for no good reason, and he knew she'd sense that as well. If he stayed flustered, she'd be right; there would be no way for him to come close to reading her mind.

Around the class some students were having better success than others. Most attempts were fairly weak and were being met by immediate repulsions. This resulted in more than a few students being knocked backwards out of their chairs. Ron was plopping down on to the ground more times than you could shake a wand at and Barghouti was taking great satisfaction in being able to repel Ron's advances. Just behind Harry, Hermione had teamed with Neville who, at the moment, was trying to penetrate her mind. Avoiding Gabriella's eyes, Harry took a deep breath.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Go tiger," said Gabriella with a smile.

Harry began to focus as best he could on Gabriella's thoughts, but all he was sensing was the back of his eyelids. Squeezing his eyes closed more firmly, he heard another large thump that he took to be Ron's arse once again striking the slate floor. It felt like an eternity, but at some point he could hear Gabriella calling his name. Not with her mouth, but with her mind. Instead of pushing him back, she was trying to coax him in. Even with the help, he was finding it extremely difficult to push his way through the darkness to her thoughts. Not aware that he was now grabbing the edge of the desk with his hands, he redoubled, tripled his efforts to push his way in. Slowly, he open his lids and their eyes met.

Suddenly, there was a jolt from behind. As she was trying to penetrate into Neville's mind, Hermione had been repelled backwards and fell against Harry. She grabbed his shoulder and began to pull him backwards. Without thinking and still focused mentally to penetrate Gabriella's mind with all his power, he reached out toward her. She grabbed his hands and when she did the scene in Harry's mind changed. The sound was sucked out of the room and all was darkness. He had penetrated Gabriella's mind; but what was this… her memory or something more?

The commotion of the class had disappeared and an eerie silence surrounded him. He then heard a rushing of water, a drip-drip-drip, a rustle of leaves and then crying… Then the air filled with a musty, wet scent of pine and loam… _The Forbidden Forest_, he knew at once. Slowly, a brightness began to open up before him and he realized that the crying came from the small child he was holding in his arms. This was no memory; Harry was himself in this vision. He found that his robes were soaked. Both he and the young child, still less than a year old, looked as if they'd just come from the lake. The boy, glistening wet, was wrapped in dark folds of damp cloth, dripping on his boots. A hand touched his shoulder from behind.

"You'll have to take care of him now, Harry." It was Hermione, her voice seeped in sadness. "She'd want it that way."

A blast of fear began to pour over Harry. He was cold, shivering, teeth chattering, the child in his arms continued to cry out for its mother, but Harry knew that it was a cry that would never be answered. He wanted to scream, to run, but when the child looked at him his heart warmed and his resolve strengthened. Slowly, Harry's finger brushed the child's cheek.

"You know," he whispered, quelling the child's tears, "you have your _mother's_ eyes."


	11. Notty Boy

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 11 - Notty Boy**

Bass pounding… strings reverberating… the band was loud and Harry was beginning to feel that, maybe, he'd had a bit too much to drink. He slumped back, sinking into the large, overstuffed chair and rubbed his temples. Why had he let Ron and Dean challenge him into a drinking duel upstairs? The Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was tomorrow and he had sworn to himself he wouldn't take a sip. But then Ron convinced him that they were favoured to win over their sister house by two-hundred points and why not celebrate… a little? It was Halloween after all; their last at Hogwarts.

Feeling a bit drunk, he then had let Neville convince him to eat far too much during the feast. Why not? It was, after all, their last Halloween together. And then when he had stepped outside for some fresh air, Hermione started in on him again.

"I saw it. You saw it. By the way she's acting, all three of us saw it, Harry." Her voice was more sympathetic than chiding as she set her hand upon his shoulder. She had tried this approach once already; it hadn't worked then either. Harry didn't know why she wouldn't just let it go. Okay, that was a lie – he did know. That was just what Hermione did. She wanted to solve a problem that she didn't understand and not knowing the answer was driving her mad. Nonetheless, after her protestations, Harry had simply rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

"If she doesn't want to talk about it, then—"

"You need to tell her what you saw," Hermione had said, stepping in more closely to Harry, but his mind had grown foggier than ever. Instead of being refreshed by the night air, he was just cold and drunk. He had shaken his head, disagreeing with Hermione, unceremoniously pushing her gentle hand away, and had wandered, stumbling a bit, back into the dance, where he had found the nice cushy chair he now was melting into. Frustrated, Hermione had left his side before he entered the Great Hall, and he was thankful for that. Rubbing his temples, Harry considered the new song. Yes, the band was very loud, but everyone was having a great time.

The Great Hall was dark save for the spots that bathed the band in an eerie orange and purple light. Now and then a row of candles burning at the front of the stage would flash bright, sparkling into the air. It was the only time you could make much of anything out, except when a professor's wand grew bright, lighting up two snogging students typically in a darkened corner covered by the fog that floated some three feet off the floor.

Harry was surprised to see Patrick dancing with a third year girl from Slytherin, if you could call his gyrations dancing. The lad was flailing his arms and pounding his feet; Harry expected to see him smiling, but Patrick didn't seem too pleased with it. Ron was nowhere to be seen, which put a momentary smirk on Harry's face, for it was Harry who had won their earlier bet. He smiled even more broadly, thinking that Ron would have to go three nights straight without wearing any socks. There was another bright flash and he caught sight of Gabriella passing by James Chang as she entered the Great Hall. His vision blurry, Harry thought she had been carrying something, but couldn't make out what it was before the room went dark again. His stomach churned; he did not feel well at all. A moment later, she was at his side with a stone mug in her hand, steam boiling out the top and rolling down over her hand.

"You owe me for this!" she called out over the raging music. "Ginny told me what you did upstairs. You can't do that, Harry. It's too dangerous for you to be this vulnerable." She handed the mug to Harry, who was nodding his head even though he couldn't make out a single word she was saying, and squished in next to him on the oversized cushion. Harry took a tentative sip. Feeling her warmth next to him, Harry was sure she had been praising him for drinking Ron and Dean under the table. There was another flash of sparks and he noticed a few of the younger students, including James and Patrick were leaving. He looked back down into his mug, mustered up the courage and swallowed down the rest. The effect was nearly immediate. The nausea passed and his vision began to clear. He was feeling better, but he was growing tired. When he set the mug down, Gabriella took him by the hands.

"You did a wonderful job helping Professor Flitwick with the decorations. The snake that kept swallowing first years was quite creative."

"A Slytherin inspired me," replied Harry, smiling back at her now that the ringing was leaving his ears. He glanced over at the snake that was over in the corner of the Great Hall. The few first year students that remained were still lining up to be swallowed by the large, greyish creature with fierce yellow eyes. Once swallowed, students were transported to the front of the stage where the band was playing. It was the only way the younger students could make their way to the front of the horde that crushed up against the stage. If they were lucky, they got to sing with the band. If they weren't, the older students would toss them to the back of the crowd. This late, it had become more of a game than anything else with first years finding some sort of treat or concoction from Fred and George's shop in their pockets by the time they were flung out of the crowd.

"I can't believe you're the only one who offered to help," said Gabriella.

"Flitwick usually does it all himself. Er… last year… I made a promise, I guess."

Harry was suddenly nervous, remembering where he was and what he had done last year at Halloween. At first he tried to look away, but he could feel Gabriella's black eyes penetrating his feelings, so he turned to her and tried to change the subject to something he knew she wouldn't want to talk about, especially not here.

"You know… Hermione thinks you should tell us what we saw."

At best it was difficult to hear, and with the long pause and total lack of reaction on Gabriella's part, Harry wondered if she'd even heard him. He tried to repeat himself.

"I said, Hermione thinks—"

"I know what Hermione thinks," Gabriella snapped. "AND I know what YOU think." She let go of Harry's hands and crossed her arms and legs. Her eyes were not angry, they were sad, almost frightened.

"I didn't mean to—"

"You just don't understand, Harry." Her jaw was set as they watched another first year go flying off the stage and be thrown to the back of the Great Hall, disappearing into the swirling fog that hung low on the floor. Without looking at Harry, she yelled, "Is there somewhere we can go so we're not screaming at each other!?"

Harry was taken aback. He didn't expect that she'd want to talk about it at all. His eyes darted toward the antechamber off the Great Hall. No one could get in there save professors; yet Professor Dumbledore had taken Harry there the year before and he remembered how to get in. Still he hesitated, but then his heart began to race a bit, thinking of the possibilities. It was dark; if they stayed close to the wall no one would see them slip behind the stage.

"Well?" Gabriella called out.

Harry took her hand and nodded for her to follow. It wasn't easy making it to the wall, but the crowd was focused on a particularly screeching song by the lead singer with bass notes that pounded the floor and tossed folks off their feet. Undetected, Gabriella and Harry slipped into the side room and the music instantly fell away. The antechamber was dimly lit by the warm glow of the fireplace and a handful of lit candles. Beyond that, there wasn't another stick of furniture in the place. Harry paused, thinking about the right spell, but before he put it together, Gabriella had conjured up a nice loveseat near the fireplace.

For the briefest of moments he thought to ask Gabriella about what he had seen in her mind, but being in this particular room on this particular night caused memories of Cho to rush over him. His emotions were mixed between excitement and concern. He hadn't heard from Cho since school let out and when Gabriella offered to visit Cho at her home, Mrs. Chang said that she had gone to the States and wouldn't be back for the rest of summer. The only student who had any contact with her at all was Anthony Goldstein, who seemed to be her boyfriend now. He seemed to gloat that he knew something that Harry didn't and he wouldn't say a word about what Cho was up to; only that she was healthy and happy and that they'd be seeing a lot more of each other after he graduated.

"Has she answered your letter?" Harry whispered without thinking.

"Who?" asked Gabriella, a bit confused.

"Cho. Only Anthony seems to know anything, but he seems to be playing Prince Valiant by keeping mum. Have you heard anything?"

"You know I haven't," answered Gabriella. "Why do you—"

"I hope she hasn't relapsed," said Harry with concern.

To Gabriella, Harry's sudden concern for Cho was odd, out of place. Why here? Why now? Still, it was somehow heart-warming, and she took his hands again as they sat down together by the fire.

"If something was wrong, we would have heard," she said comfortingly. "If anything, Anthony's filled with pride and happiness. I can sense it. He feels as if he's doing something tremendously important. Is it so bad if he won't share? Why?" She smiled devilishly. "Are you jealous?" Gabriella pinched Harry's side and made him yelp.

Harry put on his best Bogart impersonation. "These eyes are only green for you, sweetheart."

He leaned over and kissed Gabriella hard against the lips. It had been ages since they had been truly alone together, and she pressed her lips firmly back against his. Her arms wrapped around his back and she pulled him tight to her breast. His hands slipped to the warm, soft flesh of her belly. Thoughts of Centaur visions slipped past both their minds in favour of other, more enjoyable, activities.

Later, as Harry was tying up the lace of his trainer, he realized how artfully Gabriella had managed to keep him from asking her about the vision they'd seen. She kissed him one last time as he reached for the knob on the door that led back out to the Great Hall. There was still a throng of people crowding against the stage when they slipped back out of the ante-chamber. They chose not to dance and instead made their way out to the front of the castle. It was well past midnight, but there were still a few couples huddled together, watching the night sky. It was the most spectacular Halloween Harry could remember. The stars were brilliant, but then he saw it. His gaze froze and his smile fell.

"What? What's the matter, Harry?" Gabriella placed her hand against the side of Harry's face and then looked to the heavens above her shoulder. "What's wrong? What do you see?"

"Ebyrth," said Harry flatly. Gabriella leaned her head against his shoulder and patted his back, saying nothing. Harry sighed deeply. "I… I just don't get it."

"What?"

"I don't see how it can grow much brighter. I see it during the day now."

"It may be bright for you," she answered quietly, "but most the rest of us can't yet see it at all."

"Where's the war? I don't know why things haven't started already," said Harry, but then a deep, scratchy voice broke the night's stillness.

"What makes you think they haven't?"

Both Gabriella and Harry jumped. It was Professor Barghouti. The moment the other couples saw him they began to scramble up the fronts steps of the castle, constantly casting backward glances to make sure he wasn't following them, and occasionally reaching for their necks as if to reassure themselves that they hadn't been bitten. Harry forced himself to regain his composure, but Gabriella had beaten him to it.

"Dakhil, where have you been?" she asked. "I've been looking for you all day!"

"I had a visit with a werewolf," he answered. "Only fitting, don't you think?" He laughed at his own joke and while Gabriella laughed as well, Harry was having none of it.

"Just got back then, did you? Wings a bit tired? Slurp up a few tourists along the way?"

"Harry!" Gabriella snapped.

"Yes, boy," said Barghouti unimpressed, "as a matter of fact…," he ran his tongue across his teeth, and this time a row of jagged, razor-sharp teeth appeared, "…I did."

"Dakhil!" chided Gabriella. Barghouti merely chuckled again and the teeth became straight and pearly white.

"You may not see it, boy," said Barghouti, tapping Harry across the face with his large hand, "but your war has begun. Does that make you feel better?" Harry's eyes were incredulous.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "There hasn't been an incident since the train."

"The Centaurs of the Great Forest are not the only Centaurs in the world, boy. And, as much as you might like to believe that England is the centre of the world, it is but a very small part of it." He looked at Gabriella. "It is as I had feared. The war has begun at home."

"I thought you said you didn't care about the war," queried Harry. "Why the long face now?"

"Because, oh chosen one," Barghouti sneered, "your friend Lucius Malfoy has enlisted the help of vampires and hence his choice of first strike – the Carpathians. Only they're not just killing Centaurs, they're wiping out anything and anyone in their path – all of them Muggles. A whole village was destroyed. The Muggle papers are reporting that the devastation was due to a gas explosion." A burst of air popped between his lips. "I must return to Singehorn for a few days. I fear my old friend may move to intervene and repeat old mistakes. Professor Dumbledore has been informed and Professor Lupin will take care of my classes."

"Wait! I'm going with you," said Harry emphatically. Barghouti snickered and turned. "I said—"

"You wish to save the world, boy?" Barghouti snapped, spinning back upon Harry. He was clearly angry, as if Harry had started the whole thing; as if Harry had placed the comet in the heavens himself. "Why don't you try saving this school first? Why don't you try saving THEM?" His hand shot out toward the trees that surrounded the school; all was darkness. Harry squinted, which only made Barghouti all the more exasperated.

"Have you learned NOTHING?" he cried. There was a small squeal from one of the remaining students near the castle doors who quickly ran inside, slamming the door behind her. "Can you not SEE?"

Harry looked again into the darkness, squinting. Then he remembered. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then, he reached out with his mind toward the forest. As Dakhil had shown him before, all living things began to appear before him – the grass, bushes, and trees all glowed brightly. He scanned further out and then saw it: a Centaur some ten yards into the trees, bow in hand. Motion to the right caught his vision again – another Centaur, another bow. Harry continued to scan. Every thirty to fifty yards another Centaur stood guard, watching over the school in the darkness. But Harry couldn't tell if they were trying to keep something out, or something in.

"What are they doing?" he whispered.

"I am weary of teaching the ignorant," Barghouti muttered. "The Centaurs can smell the darkness, fool. It is already upon you. You would be wise to find its source before it swallows you whole." In a swirl he disappeared before Harry had a chance to say another word. The sound of flapping wings, faded to nothingness. What he noticed, after the dust settled, was that Gabriella's fingers were digging into the soft flesh of his forearm.

"What—?" He looked over at her and saw pure fear on her face. She was mesmerized, staring intently at the darkness of the forest. Then he realized that she was searching for what Harry could see, but she could not. She was afraid of the Centaurs. She took a step behind Harry, almost as if using him as a shield against the darkness, and then pulled him toward that castle doors.

"Let's go inside," she breathed.

"They're protecting us, Gab," said Harry, trying to calm her nerves. "They won't hurt you. They would never hurt you." Her eyes never left the forest and, if anything, the fear that filled the black pools of her eyes slipped toward anger.

"Now."

Harry sighed and nodded his head. "Alright," he acquiesced, and followed her up the stairs, noting that she was ever sure to keep his body between her and the darkness of the forest. When the door finally closed behind them, he could see the weight lift from her shoulders and the relief spread across her face. She leaned back against the doors, placing her hands over her face. Harry stepped closer, touching her shoulder softly.

"Baby, what is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?" The hands upon her face began to tremble and tears began to streak down her cheeks, one by one, but she would not cry, not out loud. Slowly, her eyes turned to the side to look at Harry. He'd seen that look when Gabriella lost her father, Grigor. It was a look of uncertainty, of fear, of death. Without saying a word, she shook her head and turned to walk away. She'd gone only a few paces before Harry called her to stop, but she wouldn't listen. She went past the stone column and began to head down to the dungeons, to the entrance of Slytherin. Her foot did not reach the first step before Harry grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

"Tell me what's—" He never finished. She didn't use her wand; she didn't need to. Her free hand came up under Harry's neck and he was out cold on the floor.

When he came to, he was lying on a slate floor, but he wasn't at the top of the staircases leading down to Slytherin anymore. He was bound with ropes, unable to move, in a room well lit by torches. The walls were stone, and along their top was a crown-moulding made of oak. Along its face a snake's head was engraved every few feet.

"Slytherin," Harry hissed.

"Well done, Potty." The voice came from behind him and Harry had to roll over to confirm who he knew to be there.

"Hello, Teddy," Harry said, knowing Nott hated the name. Harry was not surprised to find Crabbe at Nott's side. "Taken to kidnapping now? A step up from _watching_ murder I suppose."

"Just gathering road-kill, Potty," Nott retorted. "A little bird told me you'd been drinking… a bit too much. Imagine my surprise when I found you passed out on the stairs to Slytherin." Nott stepped closer. "Were you trying to find your true love?" Harry said nothing. "I can find you a mirror if you'd like."

"I see you found yours," Harry smirked, tossing his head in Crabbe's direction. Crabbe took more offence than Nott and kicked Harry in the side. The blow was hard and a burst of air shot from Harry's mouth.

"Why don't you untie me Crabbe, and then we'll see how brave you are?" Harry's eyes were on fire. Fearful, Crabbe stepped backward.

"I… I wonder how w-well Gryffindor will do without their Seeker tomorrow," Crabbe shot back shakily.

"So that's it, is it?" asked Harry.

"I wonder," added Nott, "what the Wizarding world will do without its hero. How ever will we get on… once you're dead?" Harry's eyes narrowed on Nott. Crabbe's eyes darted nervously toward Nott.

"Dead?" he muttered under his breath. Evidently, he was not in on Nott's full plans.

"That's a bit bold for you, Teddy, isn't it?"

"Did you know?" asked Nott, ignoring Harry's question and Crabbe's fear. "Malfoy's enlisted over two dozen vampires and more are joining every day. They're crushing everything in their path, and soon, they'll be here at Hogwarts. Soon, they'll be coming for you, and they don't die, Potter."

"Oh, they die, Teddy. I've seen them die. Didn't you know? I was attacked by them this summer. Turns out that a well placed Centaur arrow… _thwup_… and they die." Harry chuckled deliberately. "Funny thing, vampires. When they're pierced, their vampire shell sheds away and for a minute they're who they once were, the madness gone." Harry looked up at the green ceiling. "I like to think that in that moment, goodness has a chance to rush in and fill their souls once more. They have a chance to be saved."

"Rubbish," shot Nott, believing more than disbelieving.

"Yes," said Harry, still looking upward. "Vampires, at least, have a second chance." He turned to face Nott. "You on the other hand… I suppose you'll rot for all eternity." Crabbe's face was white, but Nott's was flushed with anger and frustration. It was his turn to kick Harry hard in the gut. It was all Harry could do not to vomit.

"Don't worry, Potterkins. You won't die tonight. But you will lose to Hufflepuff in tomorrow's—"

"Bloody hell! I knew it!"

A flash of red hair told Harry at once who had just entered the room. Ron was breathing hard, his wand drawn, but his hand was shaking noticeably, not because he was scared or winded, but because he'd had too much to drink. Harry could make out a flash of green robes behind him; he assumed it was Gabriella which, with Ron in his present condition, he was thankful for. Both Nott and Crabbe drew their wands and turned toward Ron, who was still standing at the door.

"How'd you find this place, Weasley?" spat Nott.

"A little bird told him," said the voice behind Ron. It wasn't Gabriella, it was James Chang; Harry's apprehension began to grow once more. There wasn't much of a chance if Ron couldn't pull it together… and quickly. The second year who had freely chosen to be in Slytherin this semester stepped in front of Ron with his wand drawn.

"Chang?" Nott asked, almost laughing. "You little—"

"_Oblivi__ate!"_ chanted James, casting a spell well beyond his years. A burst of orange light erupted from his wand throwing both Nott and Crabbe against the wall, knocking them unconscious, and wiping their minds of recent memories. The strength of the _Obliviate_ spell determined how much memory was removed. Normally, a second year wouldn't even be able to cast the spell, but Harry was sure that the effect would be lasting.

Ron released Harry from his ties while James bound his two house brothers. "They'll be the ones missing the match tomorrow," he whispered with a smile pursing his lips.

Rising to his feet, Harry felt a little light-headed, the nausea once again returning, and had to lean on Ron for support. He looked over at James, wanting to thank him for his help, but more curious about the spell.

"James," he asked, "how did you—" He was struck from behind.

"Harry!"

It was Gabriella, followed closely be Patrick. She wrapped him in her arms.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sooo sorry." She kissed his neck and cheek, and then looked into his eyes. "Can you forgive me?" Harry looked over at the two Slytherins on the floor and back at James.

"Let's go," he said, a cool sweat beading on his forehead; the potion Gabriella had given him earlier was obviously beginning to wear off. "This place gives me the creeps."

They made their way up a narrow row of stone steps that opened out on the Slytherin common room. Harry hadn't been here since he was a first year. James and Patrick nonchalantly split away from the group to talk to some other second years that had just returned from the evening's party while Gabriella walked Harry and Ron out. The three began their trek up to the Gryffindor tower. By the time they made it to the tower, Harry was feeling much better and it was Ron that was leaning on Harry and Gabriella.

"I hope James blasted Nott's memory to the Stone Age," said Ron.

"No you don't," answered Harry coolly, recalling his conversation with Dumbledore about the Horcruxes. "Two years ago I think he might have taken this chance to kill me, just to prove himself to his father and the other Death Eaters. Tonight, he was just a bag full of hot air. He's learned something since then, since his father died." Harry paused. "Compassion, I think."

"Oh, puh-lease!" cried Ron. "Nott? Compas_shhh_ionate? James said he was goin' to turn you over to them… to the Death Eaters. He might not have delivered the blow, Harry, but he still would have been dancin' on your grave."

"James told you that?" asked Gabriella. "Patrick told me that they were going to throw him in the lake."

"If they had tried, they wouldn't have gotten very far," said Harry calmly.

"What makes you say that?" asked Ron, just as they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Centaurs," answered Harry, he looked at Gabriella. "At night, they've got the castle surrounded."

"Cool," said Ron with a smile, rocking a bit on his own two legs. Harry didn't think it would take much to knock him over. "I'd like to see Nott with an arrow up his arse." Gabriella tried to muster a smile, but couldn't.

"Ron," she said, "you go on in. I need to speak with Harry alone for a moment." Ron grinned.

"Sure," he said. "I get it." He turned toward the painting. "Err… Erm…." He turned back to Harry. "P-Password, mate?"

"Toffee drops," said Harry and the painting swung open and Ron stumbled through. Before it shut, he looked back at the two, pointing his finger in no particular direction and shook it. "But not too long, P-Potter. It'_sss_ game night!"

A few moments later, Gabriella and Harry were alone in the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. Gabriella walked him over to a stone bench and the two sat down. Even though the walls and floor were now spotless, he never liked sitting here, remembering the Dementors that had nearly killed Professor McGonagall the year before. There was a sense of death in the air and for a second Harry felt a cool rush swim up his spine, whispering death's name. Gabriella held his hand, but would not meet his gaze. Instead, she watched their fingers intertwined and mingling.

"Mama has the sight," she began. "You know that, Harry. Me… I can only sense the emotions of others. I can't see the doors and windows that open on to the other planes."

"But—"

"_Shhhh."_ She put one hand gently across his lips. "Since I was young, before I ever went to Al Bsahri, I have had one sight. Sometimes years would pass before it would return, the same scene, over and over. Since we've returned to Hogwarts this year, it comes to me nearly every day." She leaned her head against Harry's shoulder. "Yesterday, I asked Mama what happened when you and Hermione plunged into the scene that has been playing in my mind without you for so many years." There was a long pause, and Harry could hear laughter coming from way down the staircases below; it died away.

"And?" he asked, nudging Gabriella along.

"A vision from another plane is like a finely cut jewel, a diamond with many facets. One can look in and see different images from all angles. You and Hermione became part of my vision and somehow shared it from your own perspectives. We all saw the same thing, but all differently. And what we each saw can mean different things."

"Then why don't you want to—"

"No vision is perfect, Harry; and, like time-turners, there are also rules about looking into the future. Most would make changes based on the imperfect knowledge they see, often changes that lead to more devastating outcomes. Only the best, those like Mama, have any hope of moving the sands of time to shape the outcome of the other planes. Others go mad trying to change what n-never was to c-come." She began to tremble as she delivered the last words and in the silence that followed Harry felt a tear drop onto his forearm. He put his arm around her and held her tight.

"Gabriella," he asked, "what is it? You need to lift this weight from your soul. I swear I won't do anything to change the future." Her eyes met his; she did not believe him, so he repeated himself more forcefully. "I swear on my parents that I won't do anything to change the future. Please, tell me what you saw." Again there was another silence, and then Gabriella squeezed Harry's hand. Finally, not looking into Harry's eyes, she began to whisper.

"It begins with a flash of light, a fire erupting from a glistening emerald lake. We are surrounded by them. There is a scream and then silence. And then there is me… adorned in white robes, face down in the tall green grass. I… I am dead, Harry. Buried deep in my back is the long wooden arrow of a Centaur."


	12. Blind Fortune

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 12**** – Blind Fortune**

The air was warm for fall, yet the sky was a heavy grey. Flying with the charms of his Caduceus _P2_ off, Harry could feel the wetness in the air. He knew it would rain soon and that, more than anything else, focused his energies on finding the Snitch. It had been hard concentrating. Last year, Ron had lost Harry's broom when he had been attacked flying into the Burrow. So this year he was riding the latest model of Caduceus, the new _P2_, "P" for Potter. Cleansweep was paying him a small fortune to use his name for their new broom, monies that Harry was using to assist the families who had lost loved ones in the war. That didn't seem to matter much. Even his own house was ribbing him for the branding of his name and it didn't help that smack in the middle of the visitor's stand was a ten foot by twenty foot crystalline portrait of Harry flying the new broom and waving at the crowd. Every so often words would appear: _The Caduceus P2. So fast it'll blow the competition away._

It was a play on the story run by the Daily Prophet about Harry's defeat of Voldemort. The story said that the spell Harry cast was so powerful, not only did it destroy Voldemort, but it nearly took the Ministry down with it. Even now, the Ministry was digging out and repairing the gaping fall into nothingness that remained after the floor of the death chamber fell away, swallowing whole the Curtain of Phenolem and the dais upon which it stood. Harry glanced again at the huge sheet of crystal, his own image smiling back at him and waving, and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

He'd been distracted all day and most folks thought it had to do with first game jitters. He was Gryffindor's Quidditch Captain this year and nearly everyone believed it to be foolish decision. Since the attack on the train, the whole school knew that he was going to be fighting the Dementors when the war with the Centaurs came. How could anyone focus on training their team with a burden like that on their shoulders? Indeed, even Professor McGonagall thought that Ron Weasley might make the better choice – she told Harry so.

"If I can't have your mind on the game, you're no use to the team, Mr. Potter," she had said in confidence. "Ron Weasley bleeds Quidditch and his mind is sharp when it comes to analyzing the other teams' weaknesses." Harry had nodded and turned to leave her office when she stopped him. "But no one commands loyalty like you, Harry. It takes seven to win a Quidditch match and all of Gryffindor would sooner fly into the lake than let you down. The question is — can _you_ keep from letting all of them down?"

"No, ma'am. I mean yes ma'am," Harry sputtered. "I mean…" He sighed. "I won't lie, professor. Ron's the better strategist, and there's no one better in northern Britain when it comes to keeping a Quaffle from skewering the rings. Dennis Creevey is the fastest in all Hogwarts and is starting to come up with plays I could never dream of. Jack Sloper's put on thirty pounds since last year and he can knock a fairy off a fencepost at fifty meters. Slytherin was the only team that had a prayer to beat us, but with Malfoy gone they don't have a chance. The team doesn't need me to lead them ma'am. Anyone can guide us to the cup." McGonagall looked at Harry over the top of her glasses.

"Is that so?" she had asked. "Well then, Mr. Potter, I suppose you'll do then. I want the team roster, to include the player replacing Katie at Chaser, and the weekly practice schedule by tomorrow morning. And, to keep you motivated since this will be such an _easy_ year, let's say that if we don't win every game by more than one-hundred fifty points, you'll be back in my office the Sunday after to write a three scroll report on one of my books detailing the theories and strategies of Quidditch." She pointed to a long row of texts on one of the shelves behind her. Not one was less than three inches thick.

"But—"

"I know, you're thinking that you'd like to write the reports anyway. Well, let's just see how the first game goes. Shall we? Good-day, Mr. Potter."

Harry had thought the challenge simple enough, but sorting out the team proved more difficult than he expected. They couldn't find a good Chaser and when Jimmy Peakes tried out for Beater he played ferociously, unseating Hooper from the team. Finally, Harry selected Demelza Robins as Chaser, if for no other reason than she was particularly good at dodging Bludgers. The shuffle caused a lot of growing pains and hurt feelings, but after three weeks of practice Harry was confident once again that the team could not be defeated.

Now, flying high over the pitch, Harry wasn't so sure. Trying to ignore his own face, he glanced at the scoreboard to find Gryffindor up by forty which, as far as Harry was concerned, was pathetic. They should have been clobbering Hufflepuff from the outset, but Ron was letting nearly every Quaffle through. Having heard that the coach of the Magpies, Bernard Bennegin, was coming specifically to scout his performance, Ron was a nervous wreck. To make matters worse he was suffering from a hangover and was having trouble seeing the Quaffle, let alone stopping it. The only good news was that Jimmy and Jack were keeping the Bludgers off the team while Dennis and Demelza were scoring nearly at will. Ginny could have been too, but she was so busy yelling at Ron for being such a git she hadn't scored a single goal.

Harry scanned the skies once more, searching for the Snitch. The Hufflepuff Seeker, Summerby, had seen it about an hour earlier. Harry had been well out of position, and if it hadn't been for a well placed Bludger by Sloper, Gryffindor would have lost. It was then that Harry had turned off the charms of his broom, hoping that he might better sense the Snitch's location. Suddenly, the yellow side of the pitch erupted in cheers; Hufflepuff had scored. Harry forced himself not to look at the scoreboard. He had to remain alert, but before you could say _snicklfritz_ the crowd erupted again – another score for Hufflepuff. Finally, Harry called a timeout.

The team gathered over by Ron, whose ears were flaming red with embarrassment. Ginny began to tear into her brother.

"So help me, Ron!" she yelled, "The next Quaffle that goes through one of those rings is going to find its way up your—"

"Hang on!" Harry interrupted. "We're not here to fight with each other; we're here to find a way to win."

"You could be looking for the Snitch!" snapped Ginny as she pulled out her wand. "So help me, if either of you two drink on a game night again, I'm going to hex you both back into Professor Trelawney's class!"

"You think you can threaten me?" yelled Ron at his sister as he pulled his own wand, however shaky his hand was.

"Stop it!" yelled Dennis above the fray. With a no-nonsense voice that commanded attention, Dennis Creevey, who was still the smallest on the team, began to point out what needed to be done.

"Ron, they're constantly feinting right and shooting left. If you move higher in the air and hold position just a little longer, you'll stop them. Ginny, we could use a little more of your attention on the Hufflepuff side of the field. Dem, they're starting to catch on to Harry's first few plays." His eyes dotted to Harry who nodded in agreement. "I think we should move on to what he was showing us last weekend."

"But we've only flown that three or four times," argued Demelza.

"Dennis is right," countered Ginny. "At the worst we'll have given them a new look. At the best we'll score three or four before they catch on."

"Jack, Jimmy, you guys have been flawless. Just keep the Bludgers off our backs and we'll score for sure." Then Dennis looked at Harry. "Harry, I don't blame you if you tell me to sod off, but…"

"Go on," said Harry.

"Well, it seems like you've been day dreaming up there, Harry. I know there are a thousand things you should be thinking about besides Quidditch, but we're gonna need the Snitch today, and if Summerby sees it again we've lost. Are you with us?"

Harry had to smile at the new general on the field. _"Our own little Napoleon,"_ he thought. Madame Hooch blew the whistle for play to resume. Hufflepuff broke their scrum and began to fly into position. Harry looked down on the pitch below. There was nothing he loved more in the world than flying.

"I'm with you," he said with confidence. "Summerby won't have a chance. I swear." Harry shot into position just to the west and a little below Summerby. If anything, the sky was growing darker and the air colder, but he resisted the temptation to engage the charms of his broom.

Dennis had been right. Over the next forty minutes or so, Ron had blocked six straight Hufflepuff attempts while the Gryffindor Chasers had scored four times. Still, they would need the Snitch. He flew over by the Slytherin stands and heard a handful of hisses, and one cheer.

Harry could think of few Hogwarts women besides Gabriella Darbinyan able to withstand the taunts and jeers of Slytherin for being Harry's girlfriend. Of course, there _were_ no taunts or jeers, because all of Slytherin was deathly afraid of Gabriella. Perhaps because she came from a school known for its dark magic, but more because any comment usually meant the commenter had a one-way ticket to the hospital wing. Harry looked down and saw her smiling up at him.

"Go, Harry!" she cried. Harry waved back, smiling and giving her a thumbs-up. "NO! GO!" she yelled, pointing her finger. The gesture and the gasp of the crowd told him at once that the Snitch had been seen. He spun to see Summerby plunging toward the turf at the north end of the pitch. Below him was a glint of gold, racing low and heading toward the visitors' stands. Summerby was ahead by at least fifty meters when Harry began to charge.

"You bloody idiot!" Harry cursed at himself as he clenched his teeth. "You flobberworm sucking idiot!" The wind roared furiously at his face. The Snitch was flying low to the turf and Harry could see that it would have to turn or rise once it hit the stands on the opposite side of the pitch. Even as good a flyer as Summerby was, he would not reach the Snitch until it hit the wall. Harry leaned forward, accelerating his broom. "It will rise," Harry whispered to himself, focusing wholly on the gold globe that was coming closer. "It will rise." He chose to fly the straight line to intercept the Snitch where he thought it would be. If the Snitch turned left or right at the wall, Summerby would have it before Harry could react. If the Snitch flew up… Harry groaned. At this speed it was still impossible. Harry poured all his energy into making his broom accelerate. The tails of his robes began to tatter in the vicious wind and his goggles were pressing hard against his face. The pressure tunnelled his vision, but he didn't care. He could still see the golden glint growing larger before him. "Faster! Damn it! Faster!"

The pitch below him was a haze; the stands faded to dark and all that Harry could see was the golden Snitch and the trail of yellow that followed it -- the trail of yellow that Harry was passing. _ Faster! _ A sheet of purple — the visitors' stands. The golden Snitch flying upward. _Yes!_

Harry's fingers pressed firmly against the winged Snitch when he heard the screams of terror. They conflicted with his own sense of joy.

"_We won__!" _thought Harry, feeling the hard metal in his clutches. _"Why would anyone be—?"_

Then everything went violently red… just before he lost consciousness.

Waking, and still feeling a bit groggy, the first thing Harry recognized was the sound of plastic being unwrapped, torn and then crumpled. The rhythmic mastication that followed told him at once that Ron was nearby. Harry smiled. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. He leaned to his right side and felt a dull ached that ran up the left half of his body. With his right hand he felt the sheets about his chest, the pillow behind his head, the bandages that wrapped his face.

"He's awake," whispered Gabriella out of the darkness. A warm touch took his hand. "Hi, sweetie," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Hey, mate," Ron added before Harry could answer. "Erm.. don't worry; Madame Pomfrey will have you back to new in… in no time." The voice had a bit of a tremor in it and it wasn't because a chocolate frog had found its way down the wrong pipe.

"That's right," added Hermione with a stiff and unnatural tone. And then voices, dozens of voices it seemed to Harry, added their agreement.

"You'll be fine, Harry." "Don't worry, Harry." "Flyin' in no time, you'll see!" "Shut up, stupid." "Hey, I didn't mean—"

"Alright… Alright…" echoed the voice of Madame Pomfrey. "You've seen him move, now be off, all of you."

A number of folks touched Harry's good arm. He felt of few kisses against his cheek. He heard a few cheery _Good-byes_ and _Later, mates_, but he also heard a few sniffs and sobs. The door swung closed with a deep _thunk_.

"I'm still here," whispered Gabriella and she took his hand once more. With his sore arm Harry reached up to pry off the bandages that wrapped about his face, just to have a peak.

"No you don't, Mr. Potter!" cried Madame Pomfrey. She grabbed his arm and gently pulled it down. "The bandages are to remain on for the next three weeks if you wish to have any hope of seeing again."

Okay. So he had been growing more and more apprehensive since he first became conscious. And the bandages were starting to freak him out… just a bit. Something in the back of his mind had said the word, but he had pushed it back down. Only problem was… the dark corners of Harry's mind were shouting now.

"See again?" he asked. "What the hell does that mean? I… I'm blind?" he asked weakly. Madame Pomfrey let out a tremendous sigh.

"Oh, dear," she said quietly, "I didn't mean for it to come out that way." Gabriella's hand tightened about Harry's and he felt her shudder.

"It was the crystal portrait, Harry," Gabriella said sadly. "You slammed right through it, sending splinters of glass everywhere. They shattered your goggles and your… your…"

"Your eyes were shredded, Mr. Potter," cut in Madame Pomfrey. "I wish I could say I've seen worse, but I haven't. I had Healer Sventstein from St. Mungo's perform the operation. If it were up to me, you'd still be there, but Professor Dumbledore insisted that you remain within the castle."

"You've b-been out for two days, Harry," said Gabriella, another shudder of sadness cracked her voice. Harry reached up and touched the bandages wrapping his face.

"Mr. Potter," snapped Madame Pomfrey. "If you keep touching your wraps you'll assuredly disturb their charms! I will not have you go blind! Do you hear me! If you keep moving your arms I will immobilize them." Her voice was husky. She'd been crying; Harry could tell. The sadness in the room was almost overwhelming. Finally, he turned his head in the direction of Gabriella.

"Did we win?" he asked.

"What?" she replied, still dazed.

"Did we win?" he repeated. "I did catch the Snitch. Hooch saw that, didn't she? We did win, didn't we?"

"Harry, how can you—"

"RON!" Harry screamed. In a flash the door burst open.

"What? What is it, Harry?" Ron called nervously.

"Did we win?" Harry asked. Without Harry saying another word, Ron began an exposition that was nearly poetic. At least… _he_ thought it was.

"Blimey, Harry," he began, "it was amazing. There you two were, screaming across the pitch to the north. Everyone was standing, even Professor Snape. Although, who he was cheering for, I don't know. But he was screaming just the same. Summerby was flying low to the ground, his robes flicking up dried grass and tossing it into the air. The blowing dust made it look as if his broom was on fire.

"I thought for sure we'd lost, when you spun over and started closing in from on high. The Snitch was flying just to my right and I could have sworn there were sparks flying out the tail of your broom. It was glowing red. Heading toward the stands, it was clear you were going to pass Summerby, but you were too high; everyone could see that. But it didn't matter. No one has ever seen someone fly that fast at Hogwarts… ever! Crimey, maybe in all Britain!

"When you passed Summerby, I thought you'd dive to avoid the stands, to grab the Snitch that was still screaming low to the ground. But you didn't; you stayed straight on. When the Snitch darted up toward you…" Ron sighed in ecstasy. "It was a miracle, mate. Like you were calling out to it and it obeyed. Pop! Right into your mitt." There was a long pause. "It's when everyone's eyes popped up with the Snitch that we saw what was going to happen. That's when the screams began." Ron walked over next to Harry's bed. "Summerby smashed into the supports down low. Broke his leg and lost a couple teeth. He got out of hospital yesterday. You… you…" Ron swallowed hard.

"You held on, mate. Yeah, we won, alright." Ron patted Harry on the chest. "Best damn Seeker in all Britain."

"And Europe? You still think Krum's better then, do yeh?" asked Harry with a smile. Ron sat back down next to Gabriella.

"Well, now," Ron answered, "I know you've had your fair share, Harry, but I still think Victor can handle a shot to the head with a Bludger better than you."

"That's because there's nothing up there to hurt," added Gabriella.

"Okay, okay you three," said Madame Pomfrey. "Mr. Potter needs his rest." She shuffled the two friends outside the room, but not until Gabriella kissed Harry on the lips.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear. "Whatever happens, I love you."

When the door closed, Madame Pomfrey walked over to Harry's bed. He was wondering if he'd ever look into the dark pools of Gabriella's eyes once again. He was scared.

"Harry," she said softly. "We'll do everything possible, but you need to give them time to heal. The wraps will stay on for at least three weeks. Your lids will be sealed longer still. Even when you can open your eyes, Harry, I don't suspect you'll see more than shades of light and dark. Once we know what you can and can't see, Healer Sventstein can begin making the proper corrections. You'll have to be patient, my dear, very patient."

He could hear her folding some papers, putting trash away he thought, and then she stepped over to the side of the room and poured something into a glass or goblet.

"I need you to drink this," she said, helping him sit up and wrap his hands around the cup. He winced when she held his left arm. "Yes, the whole left side of your body was pretty much hamburger meat. We've summoned out all the glass shards we can. There may be a few that aren't responding. I'll work on that more tomorrow." She sounded tired, so Harry decided not to argue about the drink and swallowed it down in one long draught. The pain running down his side ebbed away and the apprehension about his vision faded. Soon he was asleep.

When Harry woke, he found himself confused and disoriented. He couldn't understand why he couldn't see and he began to flail around, rising out of bed, the stone floor cold beneath his bare feet. He was about to reach up to his face when a hand took him by the arm. At first he was startled, but the voice settled him at once.

"Easy there, flyboy." It was Sirius. "Bad dream?"

"Sirius?" Harry asked to the darkness, reaching out and touching Sirius' face.

"Afraid so," Harry's godfather responded. "I was in the area; thought I'd stop in." Harry began to move forward.

"Hold on! Hold on!" Sirius stopped Harry from running into the candles hovering at his bedside. "Let's er… let's get you back in bed." Sirius helped Harry climb into bed and pulled the sheets back over him. "There, that's better." He patted Harry's good leg and remained standing at his bedside.

"What time is it?" Harry asked.

"Not quite three in the morning."

"Three in the morning?" He paused, rising up on his elbows and _looking_ about the room. "Anyone else here?"

"Just you and me little brother. How are you feeling?"

"Blind," Harry answered flatly, dropping back against his pillow.

"Yeah," agreed Sirius smartly. "That's what I hear." Harry could hear Sirius sink back into his chair and sigh. "I have to admit, Harry, that was the fastest I've ever seen a broom fly, and I've seen quite a few Quidditch matches in my day. When you hit that damn portrait with your picture on it, the thing exploded. It was like a giant crystal firework. And that you still held onto the Snitch… well, it's been all over the papers. Most figure you broke the record, but the folks from Cleansweep want you to come out and perform a fly-off against Comet — twenty thousand galleons to the winner's charity." Harry turned on his side, his back toward Sirius.

"Like that's ever going to happen," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Harry answered curtly. "If they've told anybody, they've told you. I'm blind and I'm… I'm going to stay blind."

"That's not true, Harry," began Sirius. "Madame Pomfrey­—" Harry spun and faced Sirius. Sirius didn't need to see Harry's eyes to know the look he was getting right now. He sighed. "Ten percent is not zero percent," he whispered.

"Yeah, right," Harry replied and dropped back down again. Likewise, Sirius sunk back into his chair, crossing his arms and searching for what to say. There wasn't much he could say. Harry, after all, was correct. Once a witch or wizard lost their eyes there was often little that could be done—eyes simply held too much magic. Healers could re-grow many things, but the eyes… the eyes, particularly of a powerful witch or wizard, were nearly impossible to repair. Sirius let out a low groan as the silence stretched between them. After that, the flicker of candlelight was the only noise that accompanied their breathing. At last, it was Sirius who began talking again, even though he wasn't sure if Harry was still awake. His voice was unsteady, recalling a part of his past he had never shared with Harry.

"When I… when I was in Azkaban, there was nothing to see but darkness, nothing to smell but the stench of death, nothing to hear but the cries of lament, nothing to taste but the remnants of tears that had long since died away, and the only thing one felt was the cold breath of despair. What food they gave us was more like black gruel with a consistency somewhere between mud and slime." Sirius chuckled grimly to himself. "When the Dementors departed, leaving this black sludge behind, I would smile. It was the only joy I had, sensing their departure, knowing that however awful the food was, the emptiness that screamed from my belly would soon be staved for another day. That crusty bowl of crap and my pure hatred for Peter Pettigrew were all that kept me alive.

"I never dreamed that one day…" Sirius' voice halted and he had to swallow to gather himself. "That one day… the son of my dearest friend would parlay what little value I had left in this Wizarding world of ours and save me… not from the Dementors of Azkaban… not from the Curtain of Phenolem, but… from myself. I was used up inside, Harry; a shell of a wizard and less of a man, ready to kill no matter the cost. You've shown me, even now as darkness rushes in toward us, how to live again… how to love again. I'm amazed that today, I once again walk the halls of Hogwarts—a free man, not because I'm free of the horrors of Azkaban, but because I'm free of the darkness and hatred that once consumed my soul. Because of you, I'm free to taste the delicious fruits of life once again."

"Erm, surely you're not referring to your cooking?" asked Harry, turning back to face Sirius. Because I think you could start your own restaurant for _Black Sludge_."

"If I could smack you, I would," shot Sirius, kicking the post of Harry's bed with his foot, a tear sliding down the side of his face.

"Bring it on, old man!" called Harry, rising up in bed and brandishing two fists that were swinging wildly in the air—something akin to a boxer's position. "I can take you with both eyes tied behind my back!" Harry was smiling as Sirius rose to his feet. The older wizard wiped his eyes and then, gently, took Harry's hands in his own.

"You just have to believe that it'll get better, Harry. It will. I know it will." The smile on Harry's face drooped.

"Sirius, if I can't see, I can't battle… I can't fly… I can't…." Harry shook his head and then looked toward where he knew Sirius to be. "So many people are depending on me. I can't let them down. I can't—"

"Enough already! Stop telling me what you _can't_ do! I don't want to hear it anymore!" This time Sirius' voice was heated. "I still wake in the middle of the night grasping for my sheets, fearing that it has all been a dream, wondering if in the nothingness of night I'm really still trapped behind the Curtain of Phenolem. One day the nightmares will end; I know so, because I believe they will. Until they do, I will go to sleep at night, searching for those dreams that will carry me through till morning.

"Harry, you need to believe that one day you will see again."

"But you heard—"

"And more than that," Sirius interrupted, "until the day comes when your vision returns, you'll have to find a way to see through your blindness." Harry's immediate reaction was to let a burst of air push through his lips in scoffing dismissal of Sirius' words. He began to fall back into his pillow when he stopped himself and held fast to Sirius' hand. His heart skipped as he thought back to the words of Ronan and the teachings of Dakhil.

_To see through blindness?__ Might it still be possible?_

Not sure what to expect, Harry reached out with his mind as Dakhil had shown him — to see without seeing. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Almost immediately he could recognize the brightness of Sirius before him. It wasn't an image so much as an aura of light that shown bright. Harry leaned forward in his bed. Reaching out further he began to take in the dim glow of the organic life that clung to the walls, ceiling and floor. Without saying a word he let go of Sirius' hand and rose out of bed.

"Harry, I don't think—" But Harry held up his hand and his godfather simply watched.

What Harry was 'seeing' wasn't so much an image as an imprint of all that was around him. It would take time to decipher the shapes, hues and intensities. There was a glow coming toward them. Harry pointed at the door.

"Someone's coming," he said. Sirius spun, confused. An instant later, Madame Pomfrey walked through the door.

"Harry Potter!" she cried. "Get back in bed this instant!" Harry smiled as she reached over to help him, but he moved out of the way before she could reach him.

"I should have known it was you by your colour," he said happily. "Bright blue — the colour of a healer's spell." He looked back at his godfather. "Sirius, you're a bit orange right now. You were brighter a minute ago. What's wrong?"

"My god," whispered Sirius. "You can see."


	13. The New Addition

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 13**** – The New Addition**

"The stream. The stream! Do you see the stream?"

"Ye… yes, Ro… Ronan. I… I see… the bloody… stream."

"Jump!"

Ronan didn't need to tell him. Harry had already started the leap.

It had been bitterly cold all day, but with all the running Harry was beginning to regret his decision to wear clothes. They were pushing the limits between physical and magical exertion and Harry's feet, well clad in a pair of trainers, were on fire. The light jacket and pants he was wearing were suffocating and felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.

Once again he was training with Shahan and Felspar. Over the last few days, the three had been put though their paces by Ronan, Firenze and others — running, lifting, and shooting arrows from one side of the Forbidden Forest to the other. Harry was exhausted — a feeling he was beginning to enjoy. If anything, he preferred to be out in nature.

Still blind, he was developing his limited ability to reach out and sense the aura of life around him. While he could make impressions about where things were at Hogwarts, occasionally very clean objects would miss his attention. A group of Slytherin fourth years had discovered this about a week after Harry had returned from Hospital and had taken to conjuring marbles in areas where they knew Harry would be walking. Harry, in turn, developed a few spells that helped clear his way. The tinkling of marbles usually meant that a Slytherin was nearby, waiting to watch Harry tumble. But since Harry could observe someone's aura, even through walls, the culprit was usually found fastened to the wall with their underwear on their heads and nothing else. It was a page out of what Nott and Parkinson had done to Ron last year and Harry didn't mind a little playful retribution.

In the forest, however, Harry felt as if his vision was better than having sight. Everything was alive and vibrant. Trees and vegetation, the largest animals and the smallest spores, Harry could see it all as if he'd never been blind.

Shahan had cleared the stream ahead and was already pulling away. Felspar came a bit short and she splashed water into the air. Harry, just a step behind Felspar, was shorter still, landing a full meter away from the bank's edge. His feet landed firmly in the water and he struggled to keep his balance so as not to fall into the icy water completely. He'd only taken three steps when he noticed the coolness around his feet. When he focused his attention downward he could sense clearly that his trainers were gone, the bottoms of his pants in tatters. Where the splash from Felspar hit the front of his jersey it had dissolved away as if it had been burned by acid, the aura of his bare skin underneath beaming through.

Stepping backward as he moved out of and away from the stream, Harry focused at the running water. For the first time he noticed that its colour was different than the other streams he'd seen through the forest. The light emanating from this water was whiter, more crystalline, more pure. With a great leap Ronan, who had been following, jumped from bank to bank with ease. Harry expected to be chastised for stopping, yelled at for falling behind, but Ronan said nothing. Harry noticed that the whitish-gray of Ronan's aura warmed a bit. He'd learned, at least with his friends, that such a change meant a smile. He wondered what it meant with a Centaur.

Shahan had long disappeared in the underbrush ahead, but Felspar stopped short of the thickening trees and returned to Harry and Ronan.

"Is something wrong?" Felspar asked.

"Only one of the three has seen it," answered Ronan coolly. "I asked you not to depend on your site and to reach out with your vision."

"But Shahan said—" Felspar began, but Ronan cut him off.

"You are your own Centaur, Felspar! You have passed these waters so often, and yet you still can not see?" Felspar stepped closer to the stream, staring down at its ripples.

"Not with your eyes, foolish one!" snapped Ronan. Felspar stepped back and closed her eyes. A moment passed before she rose up on her rear legs and spun toward them.

"The falls!" she cried with excitement. "The stream that feeds the falls!" Then Felspar stepped over to Harry, noticing his bare feet and ankles. "Harry Potter, your fetlocks are bare." She stepped closer. "But the flesh is unharmed. If ever I held doubt in the Chosen, they have forever _washed_ away." Felspar nodded with a slight bow. Harry nodded in return and the smiled as he saw Felspar own fetlocks.

"And I thought you couldn't be any whiter," Harry said, grinning.

"The boy is right, Felspar," said Ronan. "Your own fetlocks have grown brighter. Like the Chosen, you now wear socks." He laughed as Felspar looked down to see that indeed her white coat was glistening more brightly from the knee and hock down.

"Perhaps you should jump in wholly," suggested Harry.

"No," said Felspar immediately, backing away from the water. "I would not place the purity of my heart at such a standard. Indeed, if I had known these were the very waters…"

"Felspar," said Ronan, "catch up to Shahan if you can and tell him that we are done for the day. He has, once again, failed the test. You are fortunate that you stopped to return. In these times we must remember to think of the herd before our own interests." Felspar bowed.

"Shahan will not be pleased," Felspar said to the ground.

"As I am not," retorted Ronan. "For three straight days Shahan has failed to comprehend the lesson. Firenze says Shahan did not even bother to search for Ebyrth. The Centaur is of no use to the heard if he refuses to learn our ways. I care not that he is young." Then Ronan stepped closer to Felspar; his posture becoming rigid. "You would be wise not to listen to Shahan's thoughts, Felspar. That your coat should change colour at all is not a good sign. Your mother has raised you better." Then Ronan's demeanour changed back to one of teacher.

"Focus your mind on where you need to be, Felspar." He said nothing more, but Felspar turned toward the portion of the forest through which Shahan had disappeared. A moment later in a streak of white she was gone.

"Is that not an Apparation?" Harry asked.

"One cannot Apparate on these grounds, Harry Potter. The earth is too filled with magic. The Centaur can bend space and slow time so that distances travelled can be covered far more quickly than on hoof alone. You have accomplished this already. What's more you have learned to leave your mortal body and travel with the other living spirits of the forest."

"You helped me… when I was with Shahan."

"Yes," answered Ronan. "But I need not show you again; these skills are yours to command. Do you sense the Bowtruckle staring at us from across the stream? Perhaps he can help you see what you've thirsted for. Reach out to the creature's mind."

When Harry did reach out, he found it far easier than he first expected. The energy of the forest seemed to imbue him with added insight, guiding his thoughts as he became focused on the creature, leaving his own self, releasing his corporeal form behind and melding into the essence of a stick. In a flash he was one with the woody Bowtruckle. His eyes blinked. Ahead, across the stream were a Centaur and young man with tattered pants and no shoes. Harry tried to step forward, but the creature would not respond. It was as if he were simply eavesdropping. Suddenly, he felt quite hungry. Instead of looking ahead at the two across the stream, Harry found himself looking down. There was a rather large stink worm wriggling its bulbous head between two leaves. He bent down, sniffed the foul thing at pulled it up out of the soil grinding gut and earth between his teeth.

"_Yack!"_ said Harry, returning to his own body and spitting out what wasn't there. Ronan remained expressionless.

"Well done, Harry Potter. It has been less than a year since the Cleansing, and already you have learned the Centaur Arts. It will take much more time to master them and many years to understand their true nature. It is…" Ronan paused looking toward the western sky. "…unfortunate that we have so little time." His hoof clawed at the ground. "It does not go well for our brothers in Eastern Europe. Wizards have joined the Dementors and brought a new ally to the war." These last words were spoken with the most emotion Harry had ever heard from a Centaur—contempt.

"Vampires," said Harry quietly. "It's the work of Lucius Malfoy."

"It is the work of Ebyrth. Malfoy is but its tool."

Harry could feel darkness falling, and for the first time he was beginning to feel cold. Ronan sensed this at once.

"It is time for you to return to the castle, Harry Potter. I have been training you far too hard and far too fast, I'm afraid. So it is with Shahan and Felspar. You are all learning before your ability to comprehend. If we were greater in number…" Ronan let out a long sigh as Harry turned to face him.

"Why wage war," asked Harry, "simply because Ebyrth has returned to the heavens? How is it that this solstice is any different than last?"

"That is not a question for the Centaurs, Harry Potter," said Ronan defiantly. "It is a question for the Dementors. It is not our war; it is theirs. It is not the Centaur herds that are destroying the villages of Eastern Europe. That is the work of the Dementors and their ilk. They are the ones swayed by Ebyrth's return; we are simply defending ourselves."

"I read that in the Battle of the Fifth Age the Centaur herds nearly obliterated Dementors from the face of the earth."

"Would that we had," said Ronan coolly. "Their darkness has no purpose other than destruction. Near the end of that war, only a handful escaped into the swamps and bogs through which we could not travel. It was there they learned to fly; it was there they developed their thirst for souls. Now, from a scattered few, their progeny have multiplied. They outnumber the Centaurs two to one. For that we can thank the Wizarding world and the world of man whose greed has consumed the earth and produced sustenance on which the Dementors feed.

"No, Harry Potter, you fight on the side of righteousness, as the Centaurs have for centuries. But, I am afraid, virtue alone will not be enough to lead us to victory. We will need your strength and more."

"It doesn't help that I'll never see again," said Harry, rubbing his arms with his hands to bring some warmth to them.

"It is the will of Ebyrth. There is a reason and you will discover it. Already your blindness has taught you to see many things."

"Yeah, right," said Harry a bit sarcastically. "I see that everyone's their own pretty colour. If _I_ had a few centuries I might be able to recognize everyone's particular hue."

"It is a window to the spirit that lies within. This vision you have goes beyond external appearance and penetrates the essence of the creature before you. My people hold their emotions well, so they appear gray or white. Have you noticed that house elves are nearly always—"

"Green. Er… greenish. Yeah, I noticed."

"Goblins, whose natures are always angry, are almost always flush with red. While wizards and witches carry the colours that suit their nature, colours the trained Centaur mind can discern. It does not take long to recognize the given hue."

"Or hues," added Harry.

"Excuse me?" asked Ronan. "What do you mean?"

"Well, when they have more than one colour. You know, say green that sometimes turns blue." Ronan was staring blankly at Harry. "You know, the guy's kind of blue sometimes, kind of green other times… right?"

"Unless there is a phenomenal transformation, a spirit carries but one hue, Harry Potter. It may brighten or darken, but the hue remains the same. Unless…"

"Unless what?" asked Harry. Ronan stepped back from Harry and scanned the forest about them.

"Do you see this in many?" he asked cautiously. Harry had to think for a minute.

"No, not really. Now that I think of it. Just a handful… in the school." Ronan stepped closer.

"There are ways you might see two hues, Harry Potter. Some wizards or witches are known Animagi. The creature inside can represent a different hue, although even among the Animagi it is rare. Usually, the creature reflects the nature of the witch or wizard." There was a long pause.

"And the other?" asked Harry.

"It can be the work of a fractured spirit, someone who is really two people, or possibly under the control of another."

"The Imperius Curse?" Harry asked.

"Perhaps. Such is the way of wizards and my knowledge falters there. I hope this is not someone close. Someone in your confidence?"

"Erm, no… not really," Harry lied. "I've got to go, Ronan. Thank you for your teachings today." Harry's mind was clicking of the list of names. He focused on bending the space between where he was and Hagrid's hut. "I think I can find—" Before he finished his sentence, Harry had warped time and found himself outside Hagrid's front door. He'd covered the distance, some miles, in little more than the blink of an eye. Still, in so doing he'd exhausted what little resources of strength he had left. His clothes shredded, he was about to knock on Hagrid's door when he sensed that someone was hidden in the trees behind the garden. Harry reached for his wand and held it at the ready. Barefoot, he began to step silently toward the spy. It was one technique taught him by the Centaurs and for the fleetest of moments Harry thought he'd prefer a notched arrow right about now.

Stealthily, Harry moved closer. The figure, with a bright emerald green aura, didn't move. Its position continued to rest against the tree. Just a few yards away Harry's nostrils took in the smell of smoke, a distinctively aromatic smoke.

"Draco!" Harry hissed quiet and low. This close, Harry could see the figure, still leaning motionless against the tree, bring his hand to his mouth. He was taking another drag on his cigarette. Harry could hear the exhale, long and slow.

"Damn, Potter," Draco said, pulling himself away from the tree and turning to face Harry. "I thought you'd never get here." Draco took a step closer. "Merlin, what the hell happened to you?"

"Draco, you can't be here. Do you know what will happen if—"

"You don't know yet, do you?" said Draco in a long low drawl. He liked knowing more than Harry and didn't mind showing it, if only for a moment. "How long have you been in the forest? All day?"

In the darkness from far up the hill Harry could hear the front doors of the castle open with their characteristic crack. What he didn't expect to hear next was Ron Weasley's voice.

"He should be there by now, I'm sure."

Followed by his father's.

"I should hope so, Ron. I don't have much more time and this is quite important."

Harry spun to see three figures walking their way down to Hagrid's hut. One he didn't recognize, but was sure was Mr. Weasley. The other two were Ron and Professor Dumbledore.

"I thought the old man would be dead by now," said Draco with a matter of fact tone as he pulled what was left of Harry's jersey toward some thicker underbrush. Harry acquiesced and the two withdrew deeper into the woods as Ron, Dumbledore and Mr. Weasley made their way to Hagrid's hut. When Hagrid answered the knock he was livid.

"Yeh should have been here an hour ago!" he called from inside. "I don't care what Ronan tells yeh; the forest ain't safe after dar—. Er… Professor Dumbledore, sir. Erm… Minister. I… er… I wasn't expectin' company."

"I take it," said Dumbledore, making his way into the hut, "that Harry has not yet returned from his time with the Centaurs?" A moment later and the door shut leaving Harry alone with Draco once again.

"What's going on, Draco?" said Harry not holding the proper line of sight with Draco's eyes. "I thought you were going to use Blaise to—"

"So it's true," said Draco, waving his hand in front of Harry's face. "You're blind." Able to see the glow from the life-forms that clung there, Harry grabbed Draco's arm.

"You can read!" said Harry dismissively. "It's been in every paper I can think of." Draco ignored the crack, reached up and touched the side of Harry's face.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm too cold to feel anything right now," said Harry rubbing his arms again. "What's up with Blaise?"

"Blaise has been… compromised. He and I have a magical catch phrase that we use to ensure the other is mentally free from any… tampering. For the last two weeks, Blaise has tried to contact me without using that phrase. He's someone else's now." Draco took another long drag on his cigarette. "How father found out… I don't know." His words were deeply troubled. It was an emotional shift in Draco that Harry had rarely seen. "We were careful; more than careful. You need to know that there's a spy in the castle. I thought maybe Nott, but he doesn't have the skill to cast the Imperius."

"You're r-risking your life to tell me there's a spy?" asked Harry incredulously. "There's p-probably a dozen!" His teeth were beginning to chatter as the cold set in.

"And you're supposed to be our saviour? We're screwed." Draco flicked his cigarette into the air and it vanished. "Here." He passed Harry his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. "You know, aside from being scratched bloody, having essentially no clothes, and looking like you were just run over by the Hogwarts Express, you're in pretty good shape. Maybe if you stopped running around the forest butt naked—"

"T-Training," Harry interrupted.

"Right, like that's going to save your sorry ass. I don't know what potions you've been taking, but you better wake up and see what's going on around here."

"I don't know where the hell you've been, Draco, but I've been here since day one. I think I know what's going—"

"Cho and Goldstein are going to be married over Christmas. Did you know _that_? A secret wedding."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"_I've been here since day one,"_ Draco mocked Harry. "Yes, you're _so_ in tune, _so _enlightened. Hell, Harry, that's not even the interesting news."

"Married? Goldstein?"

"Not even her little brother knows they're getting married. Quite scandalous." Draco chuckled to himself and then sat cross-legged on the ground. "But I suppose you, all knowing oracle of the blind have insight to that." Harry said nothing, but sat down next to Draco crossing his arms and legs under Draco's cloak.

"Come on, Potter," drawled Draco once again. "Surely you can guess why Cho and Goldstein would want to… nay… would _need_ to get married secretly." Again there was a long pause and Harry pulled Draco's cloak tighter about his shoulders. He was feeling a pang of jealousy and he had no right to. He had loved Cho and he would always love her, but their paths were never meant to travel together. His path was and would forever be entangled with Gabriella. It wasn't perfect but the attraction was strong and the love firm and the uncertainty of any given day that kept Harry forever on edge tickled a very Slytherin part of his spirit that wriggled deep inside him. Finally, Harry breathed.

"Cho's pregnant," Harry whispered. "That explains why they've been meeting secretly for months. Goldstein won't say where."

"France," answered Draco with a sly smile. "Don't tell anyone, Harry, but Goldstein's guardian may be their chaperone by day, but at night he's a Death Eater in my father's service. It's a tryst of little consequence to my father and it pays the bills for Henry, the chaperone, but I knew you might have a special interest."

"I never thought that Goldstein and Cho would—"

"Oh, but I'm not done, Harry. Cho Chang spends her days in France, in a little villa just north of Marseille, a town called La Mure. She and the—"

"When's she due?" Harry asked. "Do you know how far along she is?" At this Draco smiled.

"Witches can hide that fact until the very day of delivery, Harry. Have you ever seen a pregnant witch?" For a moment, Harry pondered the idea. No, he hadn't ever seen a pregnant witch. And then he remembered that he'd seen Geoffrey Hooper's mother just a few weeks before her baby was born and she looked no different than the year before.

The door to Hagrid's cabin opened and the giant stepped out for just a moment looking toward the forest. "Should be any moment, sir," he said to the folks inside. "Any moment." Then more quietly to himself before he went back in he whispered to the forest, "Harry, where in Singehorn's name are yeh?" Harry began to stand, but Draco pulled him back down. For a flash, Harry was irritated, but caught himself.

"You know, Draco," Harry said gently, "if we walked in there right now, together, Dumbledore and the Minister would take you back. You'd be—"

"Dead in about two days," cut in Draco. "Not by the Ministry's hand, but by its dark underbelly."

"Then why are you risking your life right now? It's not to gossip on about some girl and guy you couldn't give a damn about. What's so important that—"

"They've found it," Draco interrupted. "Months ago I asked you to find it first, and you didn't even try. Now they have it." He flicked a twig into Harry's face. "Blaise risked his life and you did nothing. Now he's been found out." Draco leaned over and grabbed the cloak about Harry's neck. Harry could feel the cloth tighten, not by Draco's hand, but another force. "You're going to get it back, dearest, or I'll kill you myself." The cloth tightened further. Harry reached for his wand, but found the cloak held his hands tight.

"Draco," he gasped, "I don't know what you're—"

"Save it for someone who gives a damn." He leaned over Harry who was gasping for breath now. "Funny thing… magical cloaks. They can hold so many enchantments." He pressed Harry firmly against the sod as the Gryffindor desperately tried to gather air. "Understand, Harry, I don't want it and I sure as hell don't want my father to get his hands on it. But he will if they have their way. Get it out of the Ministry before it's too late."

All of a sudden, the cloak released Harry and he began to cough, heaving in as much air as he could. Draco took to his feet and wrapped the black cloak about his shoulders, his long blonde hair starkly white in contrast. Still coughing, Harry stumbled to his feet and pulled his wand. Draco ignored the gesture and turned to leave. But then he stopped as if suddenly remembering a forgotten thought. The door to the Hagrid's hut opened and Ron stepped out. He'd heard the sound of Harry's cough.

"Harry?!" Ron called to the darkness.

"Oh, and Harry," Draco said, looking Harry in the eyes even if the glance was not returned. "Cho isn't pregnant." He turned to leave. "It's a newborn baby boy. Well, not so much newborn any more. You'll never guess the birthday… it's the same day as yours."

"Harry!" Ron called again. This time, by the tone in Ron's voice, Harry knew they'd been seen. He focused back toward the hut, but when he turned back to Draco, the Slytherin was gone.

"That's not possible," he whispered at the emptiness. The sound of footsteps came charging up from behind and Harry could hear the commotion on the front porch of Hagrid's hut. A hand touched Harry's shoulder.

"Was that who I think it was?" Ron asked quietly. Harry simply nodded. "That can't be good," Ron muttered.

"No. No, Ron, it's not."

"Harry? Is that you my boy?" Arthur Weasley called from the hut. "Harry, come inside. Get out of the cold."

"I told you, Arthur," Dumbledore said gently from within the hut, "nothing to worry about. Come in and let's finish our tea."

"My god, Albus!" cried Arthur as Harry and Ron returned to the cabin. "Look at the boy!" Harry was still barefoot, what remained of his clothes in tatters, his face covered in mud and now a thin red line that wrapped about his neck shown through the grime. As he climbed the steps with Ron's assistance his teeth once again began to chatter.

"Yes, yes," said Dumbledore, dispassionately. "I see they've been working you rather hard today, Harry." The statement was more question than anything. "A lot to think about?" Harry just nodded and walked through the door. "Well, it's not going to get any easier, young man."

"Get o'er by the fire, lad," said Hagrid, offering a blanket. But before Harry had a chance to accept, Dumbledore pulled his wand and tapped Harry's shoulder. The grime disappeared and a Hogwarts robe covered his body. The thin red line about his neck and the aching muscles, however, remained.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, "perhaps some tea and some…" Harry tried to catch Dumbledore's eyes to tell him to stop, but found, as it had been since his accident, he could no longer effectively communicate silently with his eyes. "…stone cakes."

Warming his muscles by the fire, sipping a bit of tea, and pretending to enjoy Hagrid's rock-hard stone cakes, Harry was beginning to feel himself again. He assured Arthur Weasley that he was fine and that his dishevelled appearance was all in a day's work, training with the Centaurs in the forest; but the Minister was none too convinced.

"Your clothes were in tatters, Harry, and it still looks as if you've been strangled."

"Just a little work with Devil's Snare is all, sir," answered Harry, rubbing his neck with his left hand and sipping some more tea with the other. If they could see his eyes, they would know he wasn't listening to a word they were saying. Draco probably thought his little show would centre Harry's mind fully on some Horcrux that the Ministry had no doubt just found, but Harry's mind was anything but centred. After a bit more banter about school, regrets about Harry being blind, and news about the battles raging in Eastern Europe, Arthur Weasley finally got down to the purpose of his visit.

"You know, I'm sure," he began, "that we have been excavating the collapse that occurred at the Ministry last year, beneath the… erm, chamber."

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "Why?"

"Well, to try to recover the bodies, Harry," answered Mr. Weasley, surprised somewhat at Harry's reaction. "Many Aurors lost their lives that evening and their bodies have never been found — at least, not until last week. Since the collapse we tried for months to find the bottom with no success. We encountered one magical portal after another, and the workers were none too inclined to accidentally stumble across the Curtain itself."

"You recovered the Curtain of Phenolem?" cried Ron. "Why? Why in bloody—"

"No, Ron," interrupted Dumbledore, "the Curtain and the dais were destroyed in the fall. No, just the bodies, bodies from both sides, have been returned to their loved ones."

"Well, yes, Albus," added Arthur with some nervousness. "Most of them, anyway. We have yet to find Draco Malfoy's remains." Ron began to cough.

"Hagrid," he asked, clearing his throat once again, "do you have any more stone cakes?"

"Why sure, Ron," said Hagrid with glee. "Come on in teh the kitchen." Ron stood and followed Hagrid, patting Harry's shoulder on the way.

"I don't really see what any of this has to do with me, sir," said Harry. "I mean… well, I've put that behind me now. Haven't I? There's another darkness we need to stave off, isn't there?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely, Harry, absolutely." Arthur patted Harry's lap. "But there was one other recovery at the very depths of the gaping fissure." All at once, Mr. Weasley's aura faded and Harry knew the following words were a lie. "They pulled it up today, just before lunch. I looked for you earlier, Harry, but you'd already left for the forest." Arthur Weasley stood from his chair and looked out the window facing the castle, the colour returned to his aura. "I was thinking we could have a dedication of sorts. You could come to the Ministry as we put it on display. It would certainly remind the people in these dark times that we can vanquish darkness."

"I'm sorry, sir, but _what_ did you recover?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, Harry," answered Arthur. "I've wanted to discuss our search since you and I spoke on the train. I never knew taking care of the Ministry would consume so much of my time." His eyes wandered for a moment and then returned to meet Harry's. "No matter," he whispered. "In our search, we recovered the cloak. The black cloak of… You-Know-Who. The only remnant of his darkness and a symbol to all of his defeat."

"Voldemort?" snapped Harry. "You have Voldemort's cloak?" Harry turned in his chair. "Burn the damn thing. Destroy it!"

"I knew you might feel this way, Harry," said Arthur with understanding. "That's why I came myself. You must realize what an icon you've become in the Wizarding world. Just one picture of you, perhaps wand drawn, next to the cloak of the evil you destroyed would mean so much to—"

"It's insane!" said Harry, rising to his feet. "Do you know what that might be? It could—"

"Harry," said Dumbledore sternly, silencing Harry's rant. "I think it would be wise for you to take some time to consider what all the implications are. Time to consider what's best for… _everyone_ involved." Harry expected to see the warmth of anger build in Dumbledore's aura, but if anything his light dimmed with a coolness of concern.

"I… I'm sorry, sir," said Harry, cooling his own temperament. "Yes, that's what I need Minister… time."

"Please, Harry, you needn't call me—"

"Excuse me, sir. I need to go. It's just… I'm really tired is all." Harry reached out his hand to shake, and Arthur Weasley took it. "Let me get my head together, and I'll get back to you. Just a day or two."

"Certainly, Harry, I understand. Until then, we'll keep it safe; I can assure you." Harry started for the door. "Here, let me walk you to the castle."

"I got it dad," said Ron, dropping one of the stone cakes on the table with a thud. "Finish your tea and have some more… er, cakes." Ron ran to the door next to Harry's side. Staring at the cake and then Hagrid, Arthur was about to say something when Dumbledore spoke out instead.

"Excellent idea, Mr. Weasley," he said to the younger redhead. "Please find Harry safely back to the castle."

"Goodnight, Hagrid," said Harry to the giant still in the kitchen, baking up another batch of cakes for his guests. "Thanks!"

"Sure thing, Harry," called Hagrid. "Anytime." Then he turned to Mr. Weasley just as Harry began to shut the door. "Minister, try another one, hot out of the oven!"

By the time Harry and Ron were at the castle steps, Harry had answered most of Ron's questions.

"I just don't get it, Harry," said Ron shaking his head. "It's just a piece of cloth. You killed him."

"Ron, you saw my clothes tonight. They were burnt away because I fell into the magical stream that feeds the falls. Remember when you fell in last year?"

"Pulled in you mean," said Ron, rubbing his right wrist. "Yeah, I remember. My clothes disappeared."

"They didn't disappear," corrected Harry. "They were burnt away. Clothes are unclean. They can't survive the purity of the water."

"That's a Centaur tale," said Ron dismissively.

"Tale or not, the water destroys cloth. I doused Voldemort in nearly ten gallons of the stuff. It was enough to dissolve every evil bone in his body, but the cloak… Damn! I should have known when I saw it then. The cloak survived. But why?"

"So you think it's the…" Ron's voice dipped low, "…the Horcrux Draco was talking about?"

"I don't see how it can be," answered Harry. "If it's part of Voldemort, it should have been destroyed." Harry sighed. "Maybe Hermione will know." Ron shrugged and nodded in agreement as he reached to open the castle doors. Ron heaved on the heavy handle just as Harry's hand stopped him and shut them again.

"Ron?" he asked. "You have a lot of brothers and sisters. Erm… how long does it take to… er… for a witch to… you know… have a baby, after… you know." For a second, Ron just stared at Harry, and then reaching ever so slightly to the thoughts on the tip of Harry's mind he understood.

"Oh! How long does it take for a baby to be born after conception?" he asked.

"Yeah… yeah, that's it."

"Well my mum's always going on how I took longer than most… 'Forty two weeks, and in the middle of the war!' she'd say.

"So… figurin' my birthday, what would you say… you know… for my folks to…er—"

"Do the nasty?" said Ron with a smile. Harry simply nodded. Well, Ron thought for a moment, touched his fingers and counted backwards, and then a glow of a grin crossed his face once again.

"Pretty damn near to Halloween, Harry." He poked Harry in the ribs. "Do you think they were wearing costumes?" Harry didn't react in the way Ron expected. Instead, he leaned his back against the castle doors and slid down to a sit on the stone landing.

"Oh, Merlin," he whispered in a sickly sort of voice. "Oh, bloody, fucking, Merlin."

"What? What is it, Harry?"

"Ron… I think… I think I'm a father."


	14. Wedding Plans

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 1****4 – Wedding Plans**

When Harry and Ron passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry found the Gryffindor common room warmer than usual. Near the fireplace sat the auras of Parvati, Lavender, Gabriella, Hermione, Ginny and Dean. Towards the back, Neville was helping Patrick and a few others Harry had yet to recognize prepare for their Herbology exams. Evidently, the exam involved a burning plant of some sort, perhaps fireseed, Harry thought, since there was a billowing cloud of smoke, glowing with the energy that had created it, that hung over the group and nobody seemed to mind.

Harry, his mind fractured at the moment, brought his attention back on Patrick. The smoke was clouding his ability to see the auras of those at the back table, but the filtered light emanating from Patrick was the same as it had been since Harry first met him after the accident – blue and green. Each colour waxed and waned, growing more green whenever he was excited or near Harry.

"_Patrick?"_ Harry thought silently to himself, but the thought was short-lived.

"Harry! Ron!" cried Dean. His voice brought Harry's attention back to the group about the fireplace. The call sounded like a plea for help, as if Dean felt, at the moment, like a rat trapped in a snake's cage. He was beginning to stand when Ginny grabbed his arm.

"Oh, Dean," she said breathlessly, "isn't it beautiful?" Hermione was projecting an image of a young woman in a white wedding dress. The girl stood suspended in the middle of the five students and modelled the dress she was wearing, slowly turning in all directions so that everyone could see, everyone that is, except Harry.

"Er… yeah, great," muttered Dean miserably, sinking back onto the couch.

"I don't know, Gin," said Lavender cautiously. "I think the train's a little long."

"Lavender's right, Hermione," added Parvati. "You don't want to deal with all that dragging behind you even, if it's levitated."

"You could have fairies carry it."

"I kind of like it," Hermione said as she held her hand to her chin and tapped her cheek with one finger. "But I think the second one…" Dean let out an audible groan, but the girls ignored him while Hermione began to flash through model after model, dress after dress, as if thumbing pages of a book. It was only then that she noticed that Ron and Harry had entered the common room.

"Ron!" she exclaimed. "You're just in time." Dean's eyes grew wide and he shook his head as subtly as he could to warn them off. Ron caught it, but Harry did not. "We were just looking over dresses when—" She stopped herself mid-sentence, noticing the expression on Ron's face. "What's wrong?"

Gabriella stood and came over to Harry. "You both look like someone died. Did Filch catch you sneaking into the kitchens again? Out with it… what happened?" Ron looked at Harry, and Harry looked blankly above the girls.

"Nothing," they said simultaneously.

Gabriella patted Harry's cheek.

"Nothing?" she said, sensing the swirling swarm of emotions that must have shown like a beacon for everyone to see. "Would you like to join us?" she asked. "We were just—"

"No thanks," interjected Harry. While he had grown accustomed to seeing students from other houses in the common room, he had completely forgotten that the girls were going to get together this evening to discuss Hermione's wedding plans for the summer. "I need to get ready for the Potions exam tomorrow." Ginny stood, looking at Harry.

"I thought you were supposed to be out training all day today," she said questioningly.

"I was."

"But you're squeaky clean," she replied sceptically. "You know, if you weren't working out in the forest today, we could have gotten at least three hours on the pitch."

"I _was_ in the forest today!" Harry exclaimed. "Besides, you know I can't Seek. Not like this." He waved his hand in front of his eyes.

"You're the team captain! It's your responsibility to—"

"These aren't your robes," interrupted Gabriella, rubbing the cloth in her fingers. "These are new."

"Dumbledore cleaned him up," offered Ron. This was followed by a chorus.

"Dumbledore?"

"Well, er… he and Dad were at Hagrid's and—"

"Dad?" asked Ginny. "Dad's here? Why didn't he say he was coming to school? Where is he?" It felt, suddenly, as if sharks were beginning to circle Harry and Ron.

"Well, he only had a minute," said Ron, stepping closer to his sister. She had risen to her feet and Dean took the opportunity to quickly dart away and head toward the spiral staircase to the boys' dormitory. "And he needed to see Harry, so I took him over to—"

"So he saw _you_, but he didn't have time to see his only daughter?"

Less than a moment later everyone was talking at once. Ron and Harry were being bombarded with questions about everything from the Minister's visit, to why Dumbledore needed to conjure Harry new robes, to what pattern Ron thought would be nice for the new china.

Unexpectedly, there was a loud explosion from the back of the room that caused everyone to shriek. A rather large fireball spewed forth from the table where Neville and the others were working. It was Neville who stopped it from lighting the whole place on fire by casting a squelching charm.

"Damn it, Patrick," Neville said irritably, while a few of the other students laughed, "I told you not to mix fireseeds with dittany powder! If you do that in the exam tomorrow, Professor Sprout will fail you for sure."

The commotion that had surrounded Harry, quickly gathered about the back table and the scorched faces that stood there. Harry took the opportunity to follow Dean's footsteps up the staircase. Near the top he heard a rather dejected Patrick apologize, but what he saw was a bluish aura beaming with pride. Then Harry noticed Patrick flash him a thumbs-up from within the long sleeve of his robe, a signal that no one else could see.

"Sorry, Neville," said Patrick with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm just no good at this kind of stuff. I'll be lucky to make it to the third year at this rate."

Gabriella looked back toward the fireplace to find Harry and, before she could find where he was, Harry disappeared into the boys' dormitory. Inside he found Dean, belly down on his bed, reading a book about Quidditch. He loved the game so, it was a shame he wasn't any good at it. He looked up as Harry entered.

"Are they gone?" he asked. "Did you have to blow them all up?"

"Well, I—"

"Because that'd be fine by me, Harry. I was about to blow myself up if I had to look at one more china pattern." He looked back at the book and turned the page. "Talk about pressure… blimey." He turned another page. "I mean… I love Ginny and all, but does she actually think I'm going to ask her to marry me?" He turned another page clearly not having read the last. "So… last year… yeah, maybe. But that's your fault." Dean looked up, pointing a finger at Harry.

"Me?"

"Well, I mean, I was in a battle — fighting _you_ for her. You know. That sort of thing, well… it gets a guy in the mood. But this stuff downstairs… wedding dresses, and colours of table cloths, and…" Dean sighed. "Talk about deflating." Without looking back down to the book, he turned another page. Then, quite suddenly, Dean groaned and turned over on his bed, placing the open book over his chest. "Merlin, I love her." There was silence and he sighed again. "She's been my world. She brought me back after the accident." Dean held his hand up, flexing the fingers in front of his face. His soul had been reconnected to his corporeal form and Ginny had been there every step of the way. "She didn't need to do that."

"She loves you," said Harry, walking over to his bed, taking off his new school robes and putting on a loose pair of jeans. "Face it, Dean, you're her world too."

"I just don't want to be thinking about marriage while I'm still in school," answered Dean, sitting up on the edge of his bed and facing Harry. "There's enough to be getting on about without having to worry about in-laws… china patterns…"

"…children," added Harry quietly.

"Merlin, no," shot Dean. "I can't even imagine. But then Ginny's handy with a sheathing charm. We're careful… you know?" Harry nodded as a knot twisted in his stomach. "Can you believe Neville and Helen?" continued Dean. "Neither one of them used any protection their first few times. Hermione found out and had a fit."

"Hermione?" queried Harry.

"Well, I told Neville that he was being an idiot. I told him how Lee Jordan told me that Fred told him that George hooked up with some girl in Hogsmeade last year and wound up with a case of runespoor warts. Had to go to St. Mungo's to get them removed. Can you believe it? _Yeesh._" Lee covered his crotch with his hand and grimaced.

"But why Hermione?"

"If you want to know any spell, charm, or hex to get the job done, Harry, who do you go to? Hermione." Harry looked a bit disgruntled and crossed his arms. Dean sensed Harry's pride and added, "After all, everyone knew she and Ron were together since the fall of last year. She knew how to be safe, and Neville sure wasn't going to talk to Ginny."

Harry wasn't certain how to take that. He hadn't had a clue until last Christmas that Ron and Hermione were together. Yet, everyone else seemed to know. Furthermore, he was pretty sure that last year Tonks had used her Metamorphmagus skills to take on the appearance of Helen so that she could sneak into Gryffindor tower with Neville. It brought up memories… bad memories. Suddenly, going to talk to Hermione about anything didn't seem like such a good idea. Harry began to drum his desk with his fingers, then crossed his arms and just looked down at the floor. He could see the auras of the living organisms that his mates had tracked in under their shoes. Maybe Aunt Petunia wasn't such a crazy bat after all – at least as far as wiping one's feet at the door was concerned.

"What's up, Harry?" asked Dean. "Why are you so wound up anyway?"

Barefoot and shirtless, Harry walked over to the window. Christmas was a week away and, sadly, no snow had yet fallen. The grounds below and the surrounding forest glistened brightly in Harry's blindness. He placed his left hand on his chest, just above Asha's heart, the stone that even now sat hidden within him. Focusing high above the treetops, he found nothing but blackness. Late in the evening, clouds had moved in, covering everything in a dark blanket through which no stars shone. He peered at the same quadrant of sky in which he knew Ebyrth hung, growing ever closer. He closed his eyes and dropped his head heavily against the glass window.

Voldemort's cloak should have been destroyed by the water from the falls, but it hadn't. Why? Was it the Horcrux Draco thought it was, or simply an object of power that Lucius craved? There was a spy in the castle, probably within Gryffindor or Slytherin that had given up Blaise. He was now under a Death Eater's Imperius curse. Who was the spy? Could they have turned Patrick too?

It wasn't enough that war was raging in Eastern Europe and would soon grace the forest about Hogwarts, if not the castle itself. Now there was a child. Could it really be his? That was a stupid question. Of course it could be; the timing was near perfect and they had been… well, stupid. It was just before the Halloween feast. Harry was going to tell Cho about Gabriella… let Cho know that they couldn't be together, that Gabriella was the one he truly loved. But then she touched his arm… the look in her eyes. Even now, the memory sent a tingle down his spine and made his insides quiver. Neither of them were in the right frame of mind, but they both knew what they wanted. Now they were both paying for it. At least Cho was. Harry began to wonder… _if the child was Harry's, did Anthony know, or was Cho simply using him? _

Harry shook his head, trying to clear his muddled thoughts. Maybe he was making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe Anthony was the father. But the vision… Gabriella's vision that both he and Hermione shared. He'd seen a child. Gabriella saw her own death and yet Harry saw life. He thought it was their child, his and Gabriella's. Now, Harry wasn't so sure.

The window was cold and a shiver ran across his body. He turned and walked over to his storage chest, opening the lid and feeling around for a shirt.

"Harry?" Dean asked. "I know something's bothering you. What is it?"

"Tell me, Dean," Harry said as he found a shirt. He began to fumble about for a pair of socks.

"Yes?"

"Ah…" Harry held up two socks. "Do these match?"

"Kinda," answered Dean, looking at a black sock and one that was, maybe, a dark navy blue.

"Good… good," replied Harry and he slipped the shirt and socks on. He sat back on his bed and put on his boots without saying a word.

"Harry?" asked Dean probing. "Where are you going?"

"_Accio cloak!"_ Harry called with his right hand in the air, fingers outstretched for a catch. His cloak flew into his face. "Almost," Harry muttered. He stood and put the cloak on and then slipped his wand into his sleeve before stepping toward the door.

"Dean," he said, "please give my apologies to Professor Snape. I'll miss the exam tomorrow I'm afraid. It's sad really. Since the Joining, I think I had a pretty good chance of acing it. Severus, after all, shared a bit of himself with me that night." Harry rubbed the scar on his right arm.

"Slow down, mate," said Dean, taking to his feet. "You can't just go off—"

"Whew! I made it!" cried Ron, jumping into their room. "I never thought I'd get Hermione's attention. I finally had to go in through the backdoor, if you know what I mean." He tapped his head. "She'll be up in a… Whoa. Where are _you_ going?" he asked Harry.

"Actually, Ron," Harry began, "I was just telling Dean that—"

"What's all this about the Horcrux?" asked Hermione as she entered the room.

"_Shhhh!"_ cried Ron and Harry simultaneously, ushering her inside.

"You found it?" she asked in a near whisper.

"Maybe… if you can believe Malfoy," answered Ron.

"Malfoy?" asked Dean. "Not Draco? I thought he was—" Gabriella entered the room.

"What's going on?" she asked. Then, looking at Harry, she queried, "Where are _you _going?"

Harry, who had leaned against the wall near the door, began tapping it nervously with his fingers. He glared at Ron. "Great plan, mate."

"Well," said Ron, "I tried to—" Harry held up one finger to his lips and Ron lowered his voice. "I tried to—" Harry shook his finger at Ron. There was a bit of a rumble and Ginny burst through the door.

"What's up?" she asked. Then she noticed Harry. "What's with the cloak?" Harry crossed his arms.

"Bloody hell," he whispered.

"Is that what's got you so agitated, Harry?" Dean asked as Ginny slipped into his arms. Then he turned to her. "Did _you_ know Draco was alive?" It was a question she didn't expect and it caught her off guard. Her eyes shot immediately to Ron and the look gave her away at once.

"You did!" cried Dean. "How could you not tell me? Did you _all_ know?" Harry could see the fire building in Dean's emotions. Nobody said a word. "How long have you known?"

"Get over it, Dean!" Harry snapped. "Draco wanted it secret and we're keeping it that way. We know because we were there. Ginny knows because her brother has a big fat mouth." Harry gestured at Ron without looking his way. "Draco's heart is here at Hogwarts, Dean. Until we can clear his name we can't make him out as a fugitive."

"Clear his name?" said Dean. "He was… he _is_ a Death Eater."

"He saved my life, Dean," interjected Ron. "_That_ you do know. _That_ I've told everyone. But my word isn't enough to keep him out of Azkaban. I should know, the Minister's my Dad and, no, he doesn't know about Draco either."

Those words cooled Dean's fires, if only a smidgen, and his hands found his pockets. There was a moment of silence and then he turned to Ginny, reached out and took her hand.

"You know, Gin," Dean said gently, "if we're going to spend the rest of our lives together, we can't be keeping secrets from one another. Secrets… they… they sour souls and twist trust. If you'd have just told me to keep mum, you know I would have. All you had to do was ask. You know that… don't you?" Ginny reached over, gently touched Dean's cheek and kissed him.

"I know," she said softly. Then she held him tightly in her arms. "I'm sorry."

"Well… good," said Harry uncomfortably, thinking about his own secrets. "Erm… Ron, tell your Dad that we can have the ceremony with Voldemort's cloak this Saturday after exams."

"But that's three days, Harry," Ron said, "isn't that too long to—"

"Right," cut in Harry, "so that's why you… all," he waved toward the group, "can figure out how we get the cloak tomorrow night. I'll meet you at the entrance to the Ministry at midnight. Have the plan ready and I'll help you however I can." He grabbed Gabriella's hand. "Come with me." They had started for the door when Hermione grabbed the back of Harry's cloak, stopping him in his tracks.

"What do you mean? Where are _you_ going? Your Potions exam is tomorrow." Harry turned back, his face stern but his eyes blank.

"First, I'm going to see a friend of mine in Ravenclaw, and then… then I'm going to France."

There was a collective, "What!?" from everyone but Ron.

"It's one secret I'm afraid," said Harry, raising his hands to quiet his friends, "that needs to be kept… at least for now." Again he took Gabriella's arm. "Come on." Everyone turned to Ron as Gabriella and Harry left the room. Almost immediately, Gabriella began to ask questions, but Harry held a finger to his lips.

"Not here… not now," he whispered.

They were about to clear out through the portrait of the Fat Lady when Lavender stopped them near the fireplace.

"So I guess Hermione's done looking at dresses for the night?" she asked.

"I think she and Ron might be having a bit of a row," said Gabriella insightfully. "She's definitely done for the night."

"Ooooh," hummed Lavender as she cast a gossipy glance toward Parvati.

"Men," said Parvati flatly. Gabriella simply nodded, taking Harry by the arm and walking out of the Gryffindor common room.

The two didn't speak until they reached the staircases. It was quiet, with only a few students roaming about. Most were likely studying for tomorrow's exams. The others were either heading toward or returning from the library. The two found themselves alone on the staircase as it slowly began to slide into place. Finally, Harry gathered the courage.

"Did you know…?" he began cautiously. "Did you know about Cho?"

"Cho Chang?" Gabriella asked blankly.

"Yes, Cho Chang!" Harry snapped. "How could you not know? You two were inseparable at the end of last year. She helped you through exams. Merlin, you spent more time with her than with me. _ How could you not know?"_

The stone staircase came to rest against the wall. The two climbed off that one and onto another that began to slide into yet another direction.

"So we're going to see Anthony," Gabriella said knowingly. Harry said nothing, wishing only that the staircases would move more quickly. "Tell me Harry, are you still so jealous?"

"Jealous?" Harry asked angrily. "Jealousy has nothing to do with this. I have a right to know!" His last words were loud and reverberated off the stone walls.

"They have a right to their privacy, Harry," Gabriella replied with an edge in her voice. "They have a right to keep the Daily Prophet out of their lives. Frankly, I don't see how it's any of your business. It's clear Cho knew what she was talking about when she asked that I keep this from you. She said you'd react this way."

They turned and began to make their way up to Ravenclaw tower. A third year Ravenclaw joined them on the moving staircase upward. Harry moved close to Gabriella, failing miserably at keeping his voice hushed.

"None of my business? None of my business?!"

"Yes! None of your business! They were stupid, Harry," Gabriella said struggling to maintain her composure in front of the third year, although Harry could sense the anger building within her. "It was a mistake, a mistake that Anthony's wizard enough to set straight. Can't you see that he's trying to do the right thing by caring for what will soon be his family?"

At this, the third year Ravenclaw looked back over his shoulder at Harry and Gabriella. Gabriella flashed him a look that put the boy's nose back into the book he was reading. The stone staircase came to a halt and the boy stepped off, followed by Harry, but Gabriella grabbed his arm.

"What do you intend to do?" she asked. "Confront him? Hex him for getting your… your mistress pregnant? If that's what she was. You hardly carry the more noble ground."

Suddenly, Harry realized that Gabriella knew, but didn't know. She knew that Cho had had a child, but she didn't know that Harry could be the father. He stopped and leaned against the banister. The delay was just long enough that the staircase began to move again.

"She was not my mistress," Harry said quietly to the darkness. "I… I was not myself last year. You know—" Gabriella put her hands on Harry's shoulders.

"I know," she whispered sadly. Harry turned to face her.

"I've only ever loved you," he said.

"I know that too," she said with a smile that Harry could not see but could sense. She kissed him gently on the cheek and pulled him close. They held each other that way for some time and when the staircase came to a stop Gabriella moved to get off, but Harry stood still.

"I'm not jealous because of Anthony," spoke Harry to the open air before him. "It's just that… Icouldbethefather," he said softly.

"What?"

"I could be the father," he repeated, stepping close to her. "It wasn't Anthony that was the stupid one; it was me – Halloween of last year. Cho's child… it could be mine."

Harry waited to see the reaction, but none came. The news had no effect on Gabriella's aura. Either she knew already, or had suspected all along, or the news simply didn't affect her emotions.

"I see," she finally whispered. "That muddies things a bit, doesn't it?"

"I need to ask Anthony where she is," he said firmly. "I need to see her; I need to know."

"It seems to me," Gabriella said slyly, "that, for someone who's not supposed to know anything, you know quite a bit already. You know there's a child. You know she's in France."

"La Mure," added Harry.

"Then you know all there is to know, Harry. The town's not that large and a few well placed questions will get us to where we need to go."

"Us?" Harry asked.

"Don't be silly," answered Gabriella. "It's far too dangerous for you to leave the castle alone. Besides, Professor Snape has already released me from tomorrow's exam for—"

"—for high marks," interrupted Harry. "Yeah, I know. I know." He paused for a few moments and then shook his head. But before Harry could say a word, Gabriella began.

"Harry," she said gently, holding her hand to his face, "I don't care how well you can see what others can not." She took his hand. "You're blind. It makes a difference. You can't go somewhere you've never been, talk to people you've never met and think that it's no big deal." There was another long pause.

"Cho's bodyguard is a Death Eater," Harry said, more to himself than to Gabriella.

"You're joking, right?"

"He's not much of one, but Cho's bodyguard is a Death Eater." He paused, churning the suggestion in his mind. Finally he said, "You're right. I probably wouldn't get a chance to see her… not without help." He squeezed Gabriella's hand. "Besides, you need to be there. I need you to be there."

It took twenty minutes to get what they needed before they could sneak out through the hidden tunnel to Hogsmeade. It took half that time to make it to La Mure. Gabriella was right, Harry would have been lost without her. It was bad enough trying to remember his French; it was worse trying to figure out what hand gesture or facial expression went along with it. Blind, he could detect none of it, but Gabriella was nearly perfect. In fact, Harry began to wonder if she had known the way all along. Finally, knowing that Cho's apartment was just around the block, the two decided to spend the night at a small inn and wait until morning. It was the first time they'd been truly alone since the summer.

Harry offered to sleep on the floor, but Gabriella pulled him close to her. There was a warmth to her touch that meant more to him than anything in the whole world. That night, remembering Dean's words of honesty, he laid his soul bare, telling her everything he knew, everything she'd listen to, including Draco's theory about Voldemort's cloak. Only when he touched on his training with the Centaurs, would she noticeably change the subject. He fell asleep in her arms and woke the next morning the same way. The sun was just breaking into the room as he stroked her long black hair, wondering with some fear what the future would bring.

After breakfast, they walked down the alley toward the small apartment structure that the innkeeper had described to Gabriella. When they finally arrived, Harry covered himself with the invisibility cloak. Gabriella knocked on the door and it opened, held wide by an older man with grey hair and a tired look on his face. There were introductions and Gabriella slipped inside. The door shut before Harry could follow. There was a moment of silence and then squeals of joy. Harry knew the sound; Cho was inside. A few moments later the man left, jingling coins in his pocket. Harry's plan had worked – Gabriella, handing the man a couple galleons, suggested he go to the corner pub for a bite and a beer or two. He hadn't even reached the sidewalk before there was a snap and he had Disapparated. Then the murmurs began; louder, then softer, then louder again. Finally, Harry heard, "Don't be silly." A moment after that, the door opened and Gabriella ushered him inside.

All the while, Harry had seen the auras of the two young women and the older man. He watched as they moved back and forth, and as Gabriella hugged what he figured to be Cho. It had been the first time he had observed a Disapparation without his sight and he noted with interest the sudden burst of energy that accompanied it. But more than anything else, his attention was focused on one thing above all – a dim reddish glow that glimmered from the back of the apartment. Through all the walls it could have been anything – a cat, a dog. But Harry knew, by how well its colours blended with Cho's, what was there.

"Harry?" Gabriella asked to the nothingness before her. Cho stood only a few feet away. Harry sensed warmth mixed with apprehension. As for himself, he could feel the sweat of his palms as he reached up and slipped off the cloak.

"Cho?" he asked to the glow before him. The aura didn't move, the person didn't speak, but the colour began to blanch almost immediately. Then her hand went to her face, covering her mouth.

"Oh, Harry," she croaked. "Tony told me about the accident, about…" Slowly she walked over to him.

"This?" Harry asked, holding his hand near his temples. "It's nothing. Just a bit of glass. Surgery's scheduled for next month; should have me good as new." Cho took his hand and then touched his face.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I should have come to visit." She took him in her arms and held him tight. He could feel her shaking in his arms. "I couldn't… I couldn't bear to see you again."

"Great," Harry drawled. "Always good to know you're thought of kindly."

"Harry!" snapped Gabriella shortly. She took Cho gently by the arm and said, "Cho, can we come in and sit?" Cho loosened her grip on Harry and wiped her face with her hands.

"Oh, yes," she said, sniffing, "of course."

The place was larger than Harry expected, compared to what it looked like from the outside, but it was sparsely furnished and what furnishings there were appeared old and tattered. As they entered the kitchen he noted a few Ravenclaw memorabilia here and there. He even recognized a broom, the broom he had bought her last year, propped up in the corner. Cho offered them some coffee, which they accepted, and together they sat at a modest table in the kitchen. There was a little talk about the weather and school.

"Are your exams over?" Cho asked. "Tony has Arithmancy tomorrow."

"Tony," muttered Harry through gritted teeth. Well… maybe he _was_ a bit jealous of Anthony. "Er… yeah. Gab and I are done for the semester."

"That's great," said Cho softly. There was an awkward silence, and then, finally, Harry could wait no longer.

"I heard… I heard you and, er, Tony were going to tie the knot… get married. I told Gab we should come by and find out when. Ask what you might need to, erm…" He looked around at the shabby furniture. "… spruce the place up."

"Soon," answered Cho without hesitating. "But we're not telling anyone until after the school year. Not even my family. They think I'm here studying art."

"I also heard," continued Harry, not really listening to Cho's words, "that you two had a child; a baby boy is it?" Before Cho could answer Gabriella took her by the hand.

"It's so exciting, Cho!" she said joyfully. "I'm sure you're a wonderful mother. The baby is so lucky to have two such wonderful parents. Both Ravenclaws!"

"Thank you, Gab," said Cho warmly. "T-Tony's been great."

"Can we see him?" asked Gabriella excitedly. "I've wanted to see him so." Cho was hesitant.

"Well," added Harry, "I can't _see_ him, but I have a pretty good idea that he's right through there, isn't he?" He pointed to the back room and swallowed. "I think it's great that you and… er, Tony are doing the… er, right thing. It sure would be great, at least for Gabriella, to see him. Just a peek?"

"He is due to eat breakfast soon," Cho said cautiously. "Perhaps… just for a moment."

When she returned to the kitchen, Cho was carrying a baby boy dressed in a small red jumper. He smiled and muttered a few sounds as she sat him in his chair, offering him a biscuit to chew on. The dull fog of Harry's eyes were focused somewhere above the boy's head, but his mind's eye was captivated on the golden red glow before him. It was brilliant, almost blinding, and Harry wondered if the brightness of the glow was because he was a baby or something more. The biscuit snapped out of Cho's hand and flew into the waiting grasp of the baby.

"Look at that! So soon?" cooed Gabriella. "He's just perfect." And then she began to babble baby talk to the child.

"Yes, he's pretty special," answered Cho.

Harry could sense that she was looking at him, centred on his reaction, but he was at a loss. To know for sure he would have to ask straight out. Now, here they were, and Harry didn't know what to do. He half wanted to poke the baby with a stick to see what it would do.

"Has he," Harry began, "shown any other signs of magic?"

"No. Not really," answered Cho cautiously. "But he can stand with help and he's already tried to walk." She paused. "I think, maybe, he'll be in Hufflepuff," she added wistfully. "He loves it when I take him to the zoo."

"What's his name?" asked Gabriella.

"Jamie," answered Cho.

"After your brother?"

"We just liked the name," Cho said, not committing.

"I have to admit," said Gabriella, "that he's the spitting image of you. And that's a good thing; you're much better looking than Anthony." She laughed and Cho did too. It sounded as if it had been the first time Cho had laughed in quite some time. But then the tone in Gabriella's voice changed.

"In fact, he doesn't look much like a Goldstein at all. You're both so dark, and Jamie's skin is so pale."

"He… he doesn't get out much," said Cho, growing nervous.

"Cho, you know I love you like a sister. Don't you?" Gabriella asked gently. "Well, I think Harry has a right to know. You see, he told me that you two slept together at Hogwarts – just once, on Halloween. Caught in the heat of the moment, I guess." Gabriella took a breath, gathering her strength. "I don't care why it happened. And it doesn't bother me anymore _that_ it happened. The fact is it happened… nine months before little Jamie here was born."

"Well—"

"Cho," Gabriella interrupted. "Harry may have his suspicions, but he can't see what I can, and the eyes never lie. You and Anthony, you both have brown eyes. Both your parents each have brown eyes. It would take a powerful wizard to produce a boy with anything other than brown eyes and the magic would most certainly be to turn the colour of the eyes to his own." Cho said nothing. Harry said nothing. "It's true, Jamie is the spitting image of his beautiful mother. But the eyes… I think he has his father's eyes." Cho remained silent. Once again, Harry watched as her aura blanched.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry blindly. Gabriella took his hand.

"They're green, Harry," she said quietly. "Almond shaped and brilliantly green. Just like yours."


	15. Another Potter

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 15**** – Another Potter**

Beyond the babbles of the baby sitting beside Harry, there was silence. Perhaps, if one were to listen closely, the sound of a bird chirping or a distant bus creaking to a halt could be heard, breaking the stillness of the morning. Then Cho's foot began to nervously tap against the side of the table. In front of Harry, she had been confronted by Gabriella with the truth, but still she would not, or could not speak. Harry had known before they came to France that the child would be his, and though he had not heard the words from Cho's lips, he wasn't about to become angry; it was hard enough not to show how frightened he was feeling. No, if anything, he needed some time himself to get over the sinking feeling in his stomach, as if he'd just fallen off his broom. He would wait for Cho to be ready. He breathed deeply the aroma of his coffee, took a sip, set the cup down and put out his finger, with which the little boy began to bite toothlessly.

"Jamie?" Harry said tenderly. "I… I like that name."

He smiled and put his hand on the boy's head.

"Oh, my. What a head of hair! Is it black?" This simple question was purposefully directed at Cho. There was the beat of a pause before she answered.

"Yes," she said quietly, with a bit of a crack in the word. Harry could hear her swallow.

"Thank Merlin he's got his mother's looks," Harry said with a chuckle. He took another sip of coffee.

"You'll see him one day, Harry," said Gabriella with an encouraging tone. Harry tilted his head down and shook it slowly.

"I don't think so," he said quietly, his lips still turned in a slight smile.

"What do you mean?" asked Cho, surprised. "Surely they can—"

"I was just examined by Madame Pomfrey," interrupted Harry. "The vision charms aren't knitting. There's still too much glass."

"But couldn't they just—"

"There are dozens of tiny shards – too many and too small to vanish without vanishing pieces of my eyes and if they summon them out they'll shred whatever healthy eye tissue that's left." Cho gasped.

"I… I didn't know. I thought—"

"No matter," said Harry taking to his feet. "I can see the fire in his soul, even if I can't see the colour of his eyes." He went to the coffee pot to pour himself one more cup. On the way, he tripped on a small toy that had fallen on the floor and what liquid that was in his cup spilt.

"_Woops_," said Harry. Cho stood to clean the spill, but Harry had it off the ground nearly before it landed with a simple wave of his hand. Since losing his sight, his abilities without a wand, abilities he rarely used in front of others, had strengthened. Without skipping a beat, he poured himself another cup, but rather than turn he continued to face the cabinetry. Yes, he could see the fire in the boy's aura, but he would give anything to have his eyesight back… to see his child, his son. He began to tremble. For the first time in months he was cold with fear, and it wasn't fear of a Dementor or Death Eater. It was fear for his child and his child's mother, fear for a future that was already so uncertain, so dark. It felt as if all the air in the room was being sucked away.

"At least," he said, holding the warm cup in his hands, "Anthony won't need to… to look into my eyes and wonder. I… I wouldn't want that." Cho stepped up behind Harry and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Anthony Goldstein, Ravenclaw Prefect at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry?" asked Cho. "He might be a bit proud at times, but he's no fool, Harry. He knows." She turned Harry to face her. "He's always known that… that Jamie is _your_ son. He came up with the name. Your f-father's name." She placed her hand at the side of Harry's face. "He knew that too. I… I didn't." With these words, Cho began to cry. She held Harry by the front of his shirt and pulled him close, sobbing into his chest. Gabriella left her chair and the three hugged for some time while Cho repeated over and over how sorry she was, and Harry repeated over and over that it was okay, that _he_ was the one who was sorry. It was little Jamie who broke up the trio as he began to cry.

"Oh… he's hungry," said Cho blotting her eyes. She picked the boy up into her arms and ushered them all into the front room where the fireplace sat cold, but the slightly tattered chairs were more comfortable. Even without the fire, Harry watched with wonder the warmth that filled the room. He could tell she loved the boy deeply. Nor, was the emotion lost on Gabriella, sitting at Harry's side, who was gathering a glow herself as she took in the room's emotions of love. He took Gabriella's hand and for the first time in a long time Harry tried to relax, letting the swirling fears of the future fade from his mind. It was Cho that started the conversation as Jamie continued to suckle.

"I wanted to keep this secret, Harry – secret from my parents, secret from my brother, secret from you. At first I was ashamed and then—"

"But—"

"Let me finish," asked Cho. "I need to finish, or I may never be able to." Harry nodded. "Last year you wanted to tell me about Gabriella." Cho looked at Gab. "He did so want to push me away, to tell me of the Muggle girl he had met back home." Her eyes returned to Harry. "But I could see that, just under the skin, there was a fire of desire and I… I wanted… my broken body wanted to be desired."

"He was cross-hexed by my parents," said Gabriella. The words were meant to be explanatory, but Harry noted a tinge of bitterness or sadness.

"I know that now," answered Cho. "Maybe I knew it then, at least that he wasn't in his right mind. I could have used a sheathing charm. I thought about it. I even reached for my wand before it happened Halloween night behind the Great Hall." Gabriella shot Harry a glance that he could not see. "But then I stopped. I wanted this." Cho looked down at Jamie. "I wanted to have something in case… in case…"

"In case I died?" asked Harry. "Like Cedric?" Without speaking, Cho simply nodded.

"I was being stupid. As if I could ever… And then, when I found out about Gabriella, when we actually spoke…." Cho smiled. "I was so happy for you, Harry, and you were so sad." She sighed, shaking her head. "So I hid it – I hid my pregnancy and I hid Jamie." She put the baby over her shoulder and began to pat its back. "I thought that after You-Know-Who had been destroyed I could tell you, but then I heard about the new war… that Malfoy's Death Eaters were out to kill you. What would they do if they knew you had a son?" She shook her head. "This summer, I travelled to the United States with Anthony… Tony. One night, I fell asleep in his arms and when I woke up the next morning the befuddling charm had warn off. I was pregnant for all to see. In that instant I panicked, horrified by what he might think, what he might do, and in the next I felt Tony's touch, warm and caressing on my stomach. He stayed at my side and he's never left." Jamie let out a rather impressive burp and everyone smiled.

Grinning, Cho held Jamie in her lap and said something in Chinese as she wiped the milk from his chin.

"Tony's hired Chalmers" said Cho, referring to the guard that was probably now close to finishing his morning meal, "to watch over Jamie and I, while he finishes school. It's costing him every knut he has. Once we're married we'll qualify for benefits from the Ministry. They offer housing and, maybe, we can find a nicer place to—"

"Benefits?" spat Harry, his spine snapping rigid. "From the Ministry? You can't be serious! You're not going to take a dime from the Ministry. As far as I'm concerned there all a bunch of crooks!"

"Harry!" called Gabriella.

"Well, Ron's dad. But the rest of the lot? Crooks!" He took to his feet. "And as far as living in Ministry housing… never! I won't allow it."

"What do you mean you won't allow it?" said Cho a bit heatedly. "You have no say in the matter." Harry ignored her.

"You'll stay at the castle. It's far enough away from what's happening… yes, you'll be safe there."

"We're safe here," said Cho, standing herself, the baby held snugly in both arms.

"Safe! Are you kidding me!" cried Harry. "What's his name… Chambers? He's a Death Eater!"

"Oh," Cho chuckled, "now you're just being ridiculous. Chalmers wouldn't hurt a fly. He's only working for Tony because of the kindness in his heart. He hardly makes enough money to get by on."

"So he moonlights for Lucius Malfoy as a Death Eater!" exclaimed Harry. "At least he doesn't know that the boy is mine. Thank Merlin for that." Cho's face dropped with surprise at these words.

"How could you possible know that we haven't told him?" she asked. Now Gabriella stood, stroked Jamie's cheek and took him in her own arms, patting his back as he rested against her shoulder.

"Because," Gabriella said softly with a melodious voice as if she were singing to the baby, "if Chalmers knew, Lucius would know. And if Lucius knew, his son would know."

"Draco?" breathed Cho. "I thought Draco was…" Her voice quieted and she strode over to Harry and slapped him on the shoulder. "You little liar. You looked me straight in the eye and told me he fell into the abyss." Harry turned his back.

"Don't you look away from me!" Cho yelled. "Let me see your face." Harry acquiesced. When he faced her, any anger he felt evaporated and his shoulder slumped.

"This is pointless," he breathed. "He'll be back here any moment. Maybe he's a kindly old doddered just trying to make a buck any way he can. Cho, you can't take a chance." He placed his hands on her shoulders. "I have money and it's my responsibility. Let me at least help pay the bills until Anthony graduates. Let me at least give you a roof over your head where the fireplace works and you'll know you'll be safe."

"It's beautiful there," added Gabriella. "Green fields… azure seas… cute Greek boys with bare chests." She winked and kissed Jamie on the head. Cho crossed her arms and walked over to the fireplace that had no fuel for the fire.

"I… I'll have to ask Tony," answered Cho. "Do you think… I know it's difficult overseas, but do you think we could connect to the floo network? I miss the family so, and we are going to tell them… after Tony graduates."

"That's one thing the Ministry can do," said Harry, suddenly happy Cho was changing her mind. "But you can tell Tony later. First, we need to—" There was a snap and an instant later the front door opened. Gabriella motioned for Harry to hide. He had just enough time to dart under his cloak and gather himself into the corner before Chalmers walked through the front door.

The older man was thin, too thin, and not much taller than Cho. When he entered he took his coat off and hung it against the wall with a sticking charm.

"Beautiful day today, Miss Chang," he said with a toothy smile. "Beautiful Day!" He stepped over and gave Gabriella a nod. "And thank _you_ missy for the fine meal." He paused. "It's been a while since…" His face grew wistful, but then he shook his head. "No matter." He slapped his hands together and pulled his wand. "Let me clear these dishes for you." Harry stood silently against the wall as Chalmers walked with a bit of a limp into the kitchen. There was a distinct rhythm to the cadence of his walk that Harry, two months ago, would not otherwise have noticed. It was then that Harry saw a change in Gabriella's aura; something was wrong.

"Oh," said Chalmers with a tone of surprise in his voice. "Three cups. Did you have another visitor today?" Without waiting for an answer he levitated the dishes into the sink where the scrubbers began to wash them. Cho was frozen, but Gabriella stepped over without hesitation.

"Yes," she said quite calmly, "a girlfriend of ours, also from Hogwarts. She had to leave early to get back for her afternoon exam." Chalmers nonchalantly straightened the chairs.

"Well, you know how Mr. Goldstein feels about visitors, Miss Chang." He settled himself into one of the cushioned chairs and began to unfold the newspaper, still scanning the room with the eyes. "At least strangers." Harry could tell that the old man was on guard, sensing something that was not right. "Just tryin' to keep you and the baby safe he is."

Baby Jamie babbled something and then pointed at Harry hidden beneath the cloak. The motion was enough to cause Chalmers to turn and look back into the far corner at the cracked and empty wall. Jamie babbled again and gave a light laugh. Chalmers smiled.

"Well, wee Jamie is happy enough to have guests." He held up the front page. "What's your friend's name, missy?"

"Hermione… Hermione Granger," answered Gabriella. There was the slightest pause and she added, "And I should be on my way as well." She gave Cho a hug and kissed Jamie's cheek. "Thanks so much for letting us visit. He's just adorable and you're a wonderful mother."

"Thank you, Gabriella," answered Cho, kissing Gab's cheek. "I couldn't ask for a kinder, warmer friend. Please come visit after the wedding. I think I'll feel more comfortable then – Mrs. Goldstein."

"Oh! That reminds me," said Gabriella suddenly. "Mr. Chalmers is it?" Chalmers set his paper in his lap.

"Just Chalmers, missy."

"Cho was showing me the nursery and I noticed the back window. We had discussed placing a sealing charm, but I wasn't sure if—"

"Yes, missy," cut in Chalmers proudly. "The whole house is sealed tight. No one can get in without permission. It's a _Bucinum_ charm."

"Oh dear," said Gabriella. "A _Bucinum_ charm?" Chalmers nodded his head. "I think a _Trepidus_ charm would be safer, don't you?"

"_Trepidus_ charm?" asked Chalmers blankly.

"Oh yes," added Cho. "A _Trepidus_ charm would be ideal."

"Certainly," continued Gabriella, "I mean, if someone tries to break in the _Bucinum_ charm blows them up. That could harm the baby. Do you think you could show me where you set the charms? Together we can make the replacement."

"Oh, please do, Chalmers," asked Cho pleadingly. "Gabriella's a first class witch. She studied at Al Bsahri you know."

"Did she now," said Chalmers with interest as he took to his feet. "I've heard they reopened the school this year."

"Yes," said Gabriella, "it's quite lovely."

"Well, let's have a look around and see what we can do." Together, Chalmers and Gabriella made their way to the back of the house, leaving Cho and Jamie alone with Harry. Even as Harry moved toward the front door beneath his invisibility cloak, Jamie followed him with his gaze, pointing with his hand. Cho walked to the door and opened it.

"When… when do you marry Gold— Anthony?" Harry asked.

"Christmas," Cho answered. She tried to make the word sound exciting and vibrant, but it fell flat.

"Cho, you don't have to—"

"Don't I?" Cho snapped. "Don't I? Tony loves me for all the world. He'd risk his life to protect me… and your son. He's honest, hardworking, and… and… and I'm marrying him on Christmas." Jamie wriggled in her arms, both hands outstretched toward Harry.

"You deserve to be happy," said Harry quietly. "You deserve..." but Harry's words failed him. "I'm so sorry." Cho ushered Harry outside to the front stoop and shut the door behind her. She lifted his cloak to reveal his face.

"Harry," she said. "Tony… he looks at me… he looks at me the way you look at Gabriella. What girl wouldn't want that?" She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, and then draped the cloak back over him. "I'll ask him about your offer. He's a proud man, Harry, and a bit stubborn. You should be able to appreciate that."

"I love you, Cho. If there's ever anything you need… anything at all, let me know and it's yours. I'll see to it, I swear." Cho smiled, but her eyes were sad. Jamie began to suck on his fingers. The door opened and Gabriella appeared followed closely by Chalmers.

"Ah, here you are," said Gabriella. The sun was warm on her face as she put her arms out and gave Gabriella a hug. "The apartment is sealed tight." Cho took in a deep breath.

"Good, thank you," she said. "I was just giving Jamie a little sun."

"Which he can get through the window, my dear," said Chalmers herding Cho back into the house. "Now come inside." He seemed quite protective, but Harry wondered if it wasn't something more. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Darbinyan, was it?"

"Yes, and a pleasure it was to meet you," Gabriella replied. "It's good to see my friends in such fine hands. Cho, I'll be by before long with those gifts I promised."

"Gifts?" Cho asked. "Oh, yes, gifts. Yes, yes, anytime. Be safe; there's a quiet space to Apparate just behind that gray building over there." They kissed good-bye and Gabriella began to walk down the street, Harry at her side. Chalmers stood for some time after Cho had gone inside, watching from the stoop. Gabriella waved one last time as she turned the corner out of sight. Harry was about to pull off the cloak when she stopped him.

"Stay hidden," Gabriella whispered. "We're being followed." Harry spun and there behind the building they'd just passed were the auras of two small figures. They hadn't been there a minute before.

"Did you see them?" Harry asked. "I didn't hear an Apparation."

"House elves," Gabriella whispered, "at least one of them. The other… I can't tell."

"But there weren't any house elves at the house," said Harry.

"I know," she replied. "They must belong to someone else, or one's with its master."

"Who?"

Gabriella just shrugged.

"How did he know your name?" asked Harry.

"It just slipped out. But I don't think—"

"You don't think Lucius would just as soon see you up on a pike as me? It was foolishness!"

"He'd have found out soon enough," said Gabriella with a sigh as the two turned another corner. The street was deserted save for two young boys playing football near the end by a chain-link fence. Gabriella pulled her wand. She was going to attack the two that were nearing the corner, but Harry stayed her hand.

"Gab, no," he whispered. "Grimmauld Place."

"But—"

"Now!"

A moment later they found themselves on the streets of London, just outside of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. They waited to see if they might have been followed, then checked that the streets were clear. Finally, Harry uncloaked and walked up the steps to the door, knocking twice. The door opened of its own accord and the two walked in. There was a rustle, a thud, and then Sirius appeared atop the staircase wearing boxers and a t-shirt. Wand drawn he pointed it blindly toward the door.

"Freeze!" he screamed. "Or I'll obliterate you!"

"I hope not," answered Harry. "I'm kinda hungry."

"Harry?" Sirius said, blinking his eyes. "Harry what the hell… Gabriella?" Sirius made an attempt at slicking back his hair and started down the stairs.

"It's after noon," Harry said. "Don't tell me you were still sleeping."

"I was up late last night. Remus finished grading papers and we— Hey, isn't your Potions exam today?" Sirius' eyes shot to the door. "And why didn't you use the floo? What's going on?"

"Erm… can we eat first," asked Harry.

"What," shot Sirius in a singularly insistent tone, "is… going… on?!"

"Sirius," said Gabriella softly, "I think it best if we sit down."

"You do, do you?" snipped Sirius, but Gabriella's black eyes caught a soft-spot in Sirius' bark. "Well… okay."

The three moved into the kitchen and Sirius started toward the stove. He grabbed a spatula and summoned some sausages when Gabriella took his hand.

"Here," she said softly, "let me do that. You sit with Harry. He has some… news." Sirius moved to the table and sat opposite his godson.

"Well?" Sirius queried. "It's obvious something's afoot. Spit it out." Harry tried, but he couldn't hold his godfather's gaze.

"I… I, erm…" He sucked in a large gulp of air and exhaled. "Igoterpregnant."

"What?" Sirius asked. "What was that?"

"I… I got her pregnant."

"What!" Sirius stood and spun towards Gabriella. "You're pregnant?" Gabriella turned the sausages with her wand. "How could you? Do you know what your mother's going to—"

"Let him finish," she replied, floating three plates out onto the table.

"It… it's not Gabriella," Harry said. Sirius turned back to face Harry.

"What?"

"It's Cho… Cho Chang." Sirius fell back into his chair.

"Cho Chang? Are you sure?" asked Sirius with a disbelieving tone. "Because sometimes witches can—"

"Oh," cut in Gabriella sharply. "He's sure."

"Merlin," he whispered, scratching his chin. "Harry, you should know better."

"I know. I know I should know better."

"And you," Sirius said, turning back to Gabriella, "why are you here with this cheating scum if Cho's running around pregnant?" Expressionless, Gabriella placed the sausages on the plates and added some warmed beans.

"She's not pregnant anymore."

"Are you kidding me?" cried Sirius. He spun back on Harry. "What sort of man are you? Why would you stand by and let her—"

"It was last year," Gabriella interrupted again, sitting down and handing Sirius a fork.

"The baby was born in July," said Harry. "On my birthday. His name is Jamie."

"Looks just like his father," said Gabriella, taking a bite of sausage.

Sirius' fork fell with a clank onto the plate, splattering red beans onto his white-ish t-shirt.

"A b-boy?"

Harry nodded.

"Jamie?"

"They're living in a dump," said Harry quickly, "and I can't have my son living like that. I won't have another Potter live with dust and spiders, not as long as it's in my power. So, I offered to have them stay at your castle. You know… until Anthony graduates. Merlin save his soul if he ever—"

"_My_ castle? Anthony? Who's Anthony."

"Goldstein. Well Cho calls him Tony. How cheesy is that? Anyhow, the thing is…."

It was well into the evening before Harry had set Sirius straight on all the details, uncertain as they were. Sirius then began a speech that lasted for nearly thirty minutes and included a few references to Harry's parents. But when Harry began to probe deeper Sirius changed the subject. After venting about Harry's stupidity, he had agreed to take Anthony, Cho and Jamie in and help in any way he could.

The sausages Gabriella cooked little more than a memory, Sirius grew hungry again and he convinced them to go to a Thai restaurant that he had found just a few blocks away. When they arrived, Harry discovered that it was run by an old Muggle, but frequented by a number of witches and wizards. The occasional flashes of magic that occurred never seemed to faze the old man. Sirius called him a Savant, a Muggle in tune with the magic of the natural world but possessing no skill his own. Harry was half-way through his Panang Curry when he realized that tonight he was to meet Ron and Hermione at the Ministry.

"The cloak," he muttered suddenly to himself, before taking another bite.

"What's that, Harry?" asked Sirius. Harry looked up into Sirius' eyes; they were smiling. Harry's blindness didn't allow him to see that the creases that had once drawn the sides of Sirius' eyes down were now curling upward. But he could sense the brightness of the aura in his godfather's expression. For a moment, Harry considered telling Sirius of their plans at the Ministry. Gabriella touched his hand.

"More tea?" the waiter asked, and all three nodded. Harry continued to look toward Sirius who was as happy as ever. The thought of asking Sirius to help them, particularly at the Ministry, curdled the curry in Harry's stomach.

"I said I almost choked," Harry answered Sirius with a cough.

"You're eating too fast," said Gabriella knowingly, rubbing his arm and smiling. "It's not a race."

"Probably the curry," said Sirius, taking another bite. "It's a bit spicy tonight."

"Yeah… yeah that's it," said Harry. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and set it on the table. "Erm… Actually, I think I better be—"

"Harry," interrupted Gabriella, "I have to go before it gets past midnight."

"Is it getting that late?" asked Sirius, his mouth half full. Harry shot her a glance; his mouth frowned. He didn't want her at the Ministry any more than he wanted Sirius. There were too many memories—bad memories. Then she said something that surprised even Harry.

"I need to see Jamie," she said, "just for a moment. I should have taken care of it this morning, but I forgot. I've not been in tune with the old ways for some time. Mama would be disappointed in me." Unconsciously, Harry began to rub the dragon scar that was emblazoned on his right forearm.

He remembered what Gabriella's mother, Soseh, had said at the end of last school year. "The blessing is inscribed on the males of each generation by the women of the generation before. It will be Gabriella's duty to pass the blessing to your sons." Once it was clear that Harry would accept Jamie as his son, it was Gabriella's duty, by oath, that she pass to him the blessing of Asha.

"The Votary," Harry whispered quietly, staring down at the bowl of yellow and gold. Then his dull eyes looked toward hers. "It's too dangerous," he said sharply. "What if Chalmers has told them. What if he knew all along? What if they're still there?"

"They? They who?" asked Sirius.

"We were followed after we left Cho's apartment," said Gabriella. "But it makes no difference. By honour, I have no choice. It must be done, and the sooner it's done the greater the power of Jamie's blessing, of his protection. He'll need Asha's help in these times of darkness."

"You mentioned the Death Eater bodyguard, but you didn't mention that you were followed," said Sirius, his eyes turning toward Harry with a more serious glare.

"Draco said that Chalmers doesn't work nights, at least not for Goldstein. Sirius, you need to go with her, keep her safe. That way you can see Jamie and pass on the news, maybe convince Cho to move into the castle tonight while Chalmers is away."

"And you?" Sirius asked.

"I'll just head back to Hogwarts. If the two were a couple of Lucius' thugs out to get me it'd be better if I wasn't there." Sirius sighed, looking longingly at an untouched barbeque spare rib. He licked his lips and pushed his plate forward.

"Very well, let's go." They paid and made their way outside and down the street, finding a more remote alley often used by the visiting witches and wizards to Apparate. Sirius took Harry by the arm and looked him in the eyes, but Harry turned away to look down the street as a car past by.

"Straight to Hogwarts," said Sirius sternly, "okay, Harry?"

"Straight to Hogwarts," Harry agreed. Gabriella kissed him on the cheek.

"I can see your emotions roiling," she whispered in his ear. "Be vigilant and say, 'Hi!' to Ron and Hermione for me." She pulled her wand as did Sirius. "Oh, and don't worry; Jamie will be fine. I'll make sure that no evil harms your child." Harry tried to muster a smile.

"Did I ever tell you how much I loved you?" he asked and then they kissed. "I'll see you at school in the morning. Keep her safe, Sirius." There was a snap and both Gabriella and Sirius had vanished. Harry focused his vision to another part of London and in the next moment found himself at a telephone box above the entrance to the Ministry. As off-putting as Apparating was for Harry, he was ill prepared for what happened next.

"_Stupefy!"_ The blast of red light hit Harry squarely in the chest, knocking him backward some ten to twenty feet, his wand tumbling from his hand. "There, Harrington," a large cloaked figure said with a rather blustery voice, picking up Harry's wand, "and you were about ready to wet your pants. He is a boy, after all." Still on his back Harry could sense them stepping toward him.

"I… am not… a… boy!" he rasped. This made the closest wizard laugh, but the smaller man behind him said nothing.

"Well, I've got your wand, little _man_. I doubt you'll—"

"_Diffindo!"_ Harry hissed, stretching his right arm forward. Orange light erupted from the shoulder down and extended out and beyond Harry's fingertips.

The front of the Death Eater's cloak looked as if a large saber had just slashed across it, tearing cloth and flesh alike up and outward. Harry could feel the blood spatter his face. The Death Eater screamed falling to his knees. Unsteadily, Harry stood. The whole place seemed to be spinning. He was dizzy and a gathering sensation of nausea was building inside.

"_Accio wand!"_ he cried, wrenching his wand from the Death Eater's grasp and in to his own hand. Limping forward he yelled _"BOY?"_ Then he placed his wand on the forehead of his foe. _"BOY?" _Blood continued to trickle from beneath the crouching Death Eater's ribs and between the hands that clutched his chest. "Who do you work for?" Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

Harry had focused so much attention on the large Death Eater, he had neglected the smaller one that had retreated to the shadows.

"I said WHO – DO – YOU – WORK FOR!" Standing over his cowering victim, it was then that he noticed the lights – lots of lights. Five more auras had Apparated; he was surrounded. Seemingly emboldened by the new arrivals, the smaller Death Eater emerged from the shadows and held out his wand.

"Expel—" There were three spells cast almost simultaneously that stopped the wizard before he had a chance to finish.

"_Stupefy!_" "_Diffindo!_" and Harry's shield charm, "_Contego!_"

Only, Harry didn't need the shield charm… for himself. The first spell came from one of the approaching auras Harry presumed to be more Death Eaters. The bolt, not the strongest Harry had ever seen, knocked the smaller wizard backward, albeit only a few feet. Fearing for his life, and rightfully so, the diminutive Death Eater Disapparated. The second spell came from yet another aura, small yet intense. It was directed at the crippled wizard crouching before Harry. The result was frightful and instantaneous; the Death Eater's head fell to the gravelled pavement and his torso slumped forward, draining blood at Harry's feet, a boiling pool of light like lave erupting from a volcano.

Harry spun to face the five wizards approaching him, holding his wand high. Two showed hints of both red and green in their auras as they drew nearer. "_Imperious Curse_?" Harry wondered. And then a voice came to him that startled him more than that of the previous Death Eater.

"Bloody hell, James! What in Merlin's name did you do that for?"

The colour, the canter, the tone… Harry knew at once it was Ron Weasley.


	16. The Burden Calls

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 16**** – The Burden Calls**

"He was reaching for his wand," said James, pointing at the decapitated Death Eater at Harry's feet. "He was going to kill Harry!"

"He was on his knees," snapped Hermione. "Harry had him firmly in control."

"He didn' have the… that little guy in control," countered Patrick. "I had teh take him down."

"You're just lucky he was as frightened as a molamar in water," said Anthony Goldstein with a rather haughty voice.

"Goldstein?" asked Harry in surprise as the group converged on him.

"Damn, Potter," said Goldstein, "you're a bloody mess. And I do mean bloody. _Scourgify!_" The splatters covering the front of Harry's face, shirt and pants vanished, though the pool on the pavement remained. "There, that's better."

"Who in Hades told Goldstein?" cried Harry.

"Actually, Potter," replied Goldstein, "I stumbled on this merry troupe as they tried to sneak out. Seemed like a good DA mission.

"Are you kidding?" snapped Harry, gazing at the aura of the man who'd be his son's father. There was a purity about it, but Harry was to inflamed to consider it. "You… you can't be here. It's too dangerous."

"Yes, I see that," said Goldstein with a rather sarcastic tone. Gingerly, Harry stepped out of the blood, pooling at his feet. Hermione ran over to him and hugged him.

"Who were they?" she asked. "Nobody's supposed to know we're here."

"That's what I thought," answered Harry. "I was trying to get an answer when James here decided to play the butcher." Harry turned to the second year. "The next time I need your help Chang, I'll ask for it." Harry sensed at once the anger building within the smaller wizard, but then it subsided almost as quickly as it came.

"I… I was just trying too hard I guess," answered James. "It was scary."

"And why are you two," Harry pointed to both James and Patrick, "here in the first place? Stumble across the _troupe_ as well?" He shot Ron a glance and wished he could convey _eyes of death_.

"Patrick overheard our plans and said he'd snitch if we didn't bring 'em along," answered Ron. "It was supposed to be quiet; I didn't figure we'd run into Death Eaters."

"If that's what they were," said Harry, still holding his wand at the ready. "They acted more like hired thugs than Death Eaters."

The night air was cold and quiet. He could feel the dampness of a thin mist wrap about his face, sending shivers down his spine. For a moment he thought of Dementors, but the coolness, this chilled clamminess was something else, something more visceral. The whispers of death were swirling; somehow Harry knew that. And not for the man that had just been slain, the whispers were telling Harry that more would soon join the dead man at his feet. But who?

"Goldstein," Harry said suddenly, "Anthony, really you… you have to—"

"Well, we're here now," said James. "_Dispatchio!_" The dead wizard and the pool of blood beneath him vanished. "Let's say we get in, get the cloak and get out before anymore… er, dark wizards show up. Wouldn't want Luci—"

"Where'd you learn _that_ spell?" queried Hermione. "That's fifth year." James shrugged his shoulders.

"My sister I guess," he said. "She's the smart one in the family."

"Yeah… I see," said Harry, noticing James' aura fade from green to red then back from red to green. For the first time, he thought James might not really be an ally. "Ron, maybe you should take—"

"James is right," interrupted Anthony. "Best if we get down into the Ministry before another dozen Death Eaters Apparate in."

"But—"

"Harry," interrupted Hermione, "let's just get downstairs. We can talk then." Harry heaved a sigh and the group squeezed into the phone booth. Ron said the password his father had told him and a silver orb appeared, scanning Ron in a sickly white light. Then, with a jar, the elevator began to plummet. Harry tried to look at Ron and suggest to the redhead that he should read Harry's mind, but his eyes were blank and Ron didn't recognize the facial expression as he once would have. Harry silently cursed his blindness.

Harry's heart began to quicken. If the two second years were under the Imperious Curse, they were likely in Lucius Malfoy's control. He was feeling strongly like he wanted to wretch onto the polished marble floors just as the doors opened onto the resplendent entrance hall of the Ministry of Magic. The six stepped out, wands drawn.

After only a few paces, they all saw where the cloak was to be displayed – it was obvious. A large glass case had already been erected. On a pole was the torso of a mannequin and next to that a golden statue of Harry with his wand drawn. They all stepped closer. There was no cloak, but there was a plaque. It read, _"This site commemorates the defeat of the Dark Wizard Voldemort by the Grand Wizard Harry Potter, Order of Merlin, First Class, who faced his foe wand-to-wand and struck him down."_

"Order of Merlin?" asked Goldstein surprised. "I didn't know—"

"Neither did I," cut in Harry.

"They'll probably award it to you during the ceremony tomorrow," said Hermione brightly. Harry turned to her.

"If we do this right, there won't be any ceremony," said Harry shortly. "No Dark cloak, no return of Voldemort, no ceremony. Ron, do you have any idea where—"

There was a resonance coming from down the hall and a faint glow that was growing nearer. It sounded as if someone were humming. The group began to pull back, away from the display case; all, that is, except James. Harry went to grab his sleeve, but the boy wouldn't move.

"Is this it?" he asked, still staring at the re-enactment before him. "Is this how it happened? You struck him down? Nobody could tell me for sure, not even Gabriella." Harry held more tightly to James' robes and began to pull him bodily across the floor.

"James," Harry said, huffing between his teeth, "there are some things you can't believe. First, never believe a word Trelawney says unless she sounds like a goblin on fire whiskey. Second, never believe a word written in the _Dailey Prophet_, unless it's written by Luna Lovegood. And finally, never… ever believe anything the Ministry says – ever!" He continued dragging James by the back of his collar until they were hidden between two marble columns.

"Bold words, Harry," continued James passively. "But I never believed you could beat Lord Voldemort wand-to-wand. Tell me, is there still a part of the Dark Lord that courses through your veins? That could be useful, if—"

"_Shhh."_

All was silent, save for the occasional cracking ember from one of the fireplaces that surrounded the grand entrance hall and the humming that was growing louder by the minute. Again Harry tried to gather Ron's attention, but he was busy whispering something in Hermione's ear as they clung together behind a suit of armour opposite the Fountain of Magical Brethren. At another column just behind Harry and James, Patrick and Anthony crouched. The whispers of death were growing louder. So loud, in fact, that Harry turned to see if perhaps a ghost or something more were at his right side. Only James was there, kneeling quietly on the floor.

The light grew brighter and then the witch appeared. Harry could make out her aura, a shimmering gold, but not her features at this distance. In front of her was a cloak levitated some two feet off the ground. She was approaching the display case when James began to wriggle under Harry's hand.

"Hold still," he whispered, but the marble walls took in the sound, echoed them about, amplifying the noise such that it was audible to the witch at the display case. Harry noticed the hesitation. He expected her to turn, but she did not. Instead, she levitated the cloak onto the torso within the display case and closed the glass door. She cast a charm with her wand and then turned as if to leave. In turning, she revealed her face to the others, but Harry was still unable to recognize who the witch was. From the faint gasp from across the hall it was clear that Hermione, for one, knew who it was. The witch stepped toward the fountain and took something out of her pocket, perhaps a coin, Harry couldn't tell. In a motion that was as graceful and as cunning as any Harry had ever seen, she flipped the object into the fountain. It spun high into the air and, just as it crested in its arc, her other hand pointed her wand toward it and cast the spell.

"_Immobulus!"_ Harry recognized the voice at once; it was Molly Weasley, Ron's mother.

Half of the light leaving her wand passed the coin cleanly and struck the witch and wizard by the suit of armour. The other half, however, glinted off the coin, reflecting toward and blasting the two wizards next to the column behind Harry. With one spell she had immobilized Ron, Hermione, Anthony and Patrick. Again, James wriggled under Harry's grasp and again Harry held him fast.

"I know you're there," Mrs. Weasley said with a voice that held no fear. "I'm afraid it's well after hours. If you're lost, I'm sure I can help you find your way. Come out from behind the column and let's see where you belong. Shall we?"

Again James pushed against the weight of Harry who was pressing him hard against the marble floor. Finally, Harry had had enough. He couldn't risk what James might do.

"_Incarcerous!"_ he called. Ropes sprung from his wand and began to wrap themselves about James.

"_Sectumsempra!"_ cried James, slashing the ropes with his wand and pushing Harry away. Then he pointed his wand at Mrs. Weasley. _"Avada Ked—!"_

"_Stupefy!"_ she called, her spell interrupting the boy's. The red light nearly struck James who deflected it at the last moment, sending the beam into the ceiling above, showering them all with pieces of marble and splinters of walnut. This was no second year wizard.

Harry jumped to his feet and cast his own stunning spell, but again James deflected it. It was then that Molly Weasley noticed who he was.

"Harry?" she called.

"Hide, Mrs. Weasley!" he cried in return. "Hide!"

James cast a jet of red light Harry's way. Harry focused on where he needed to be—out of the beam's path. Suddenly, everything slowed and he found himself running to the right, toward the fountain, just as the bolt of red passed his left elbow. James smiled.

"Impre_ssss_ive, Harry," James hissed in a much higher, colder voice, a voice that shook Harry to the core. _It couldn't be._ "You've learned well from the Centaurs. I did as well; although I suspect my methods of extracting the knowledge I required were somewhat different than yours." There was another bolt, green, and again Harry disappeared and reappeared into another part of the grand hall.

"_Diffindo!"_ called Mrs. Weasley. Her spell struck James on the left shoulder, leaving a nasty slash. James spun on the witch.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

This time the green light sailed toward Molly Weasley. Harry began to levitate a marble bench into the beam's path, but quickly realized the bench was too heavy and would not travel fast enough. Instead he ran, slowing time and bending the space between them tightly together. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her to the ground just as the blast past the pair, smashing into the wall behind and showering them with dust and rock. Harry landed on his back as Mrs. Weasley landed on top of him, knocking the air out of his chest.

"Harry," she said sternly as only a mother could, "what are you doing here? What's going on?"

"It… it's Voldemort," he gasped trying to find air that wasn't there. "He's… back." He wheezed, sucking in a short breath of air. "In… James." Without questioning further, Mrs. Weasley's back went rigid and she rose to face James, to face Voldemort.

"_N__ooo,"_ Harry rasped, struggling to sit up, but barely able. She ignored his beckon and faced the small boy now standing only a few feet in front of her.

"Leave the boy, Voldemort," she commanded, brandishing her wand. "He can't possibly be of any use to you, now we know the truth."

"Truth?" queried James as his eyes shot toward the dark cloak still protected behind the sealed glass. Harry rose to his knees, trying to bring air back into his lungs. "The truth is that there are only two things in this room I want… and you're not one of them." His wand rose in unison with Harry's, only Harry was unable to gasp the spell.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Placing himself between Mrs. Weasley and Voldemort, Harry tried to rise up in front of the jet of green but the killing curse would win the race this time; he knew that. For her part, Molly Weasley cast a shield charm about them both, hoping to deflect the spell, but they all knew it wouldn't work. In her last instant of life her hands gripped Harry by the shoulders and she cast a glance down into his blind eyes, a glance that held love and compassion, a glance that was filled with concern not for herself but for the boy before her… a glance he couldn't see. She fell dead to the floor.

"NO!" cried Harry as he spun and cast another slashing spell against James who deflected it with ease. "You're being controlled, James! Fight back!" James only laughed.

"_YOU_ stood face-to-face with the Great Dark Lord Voldemort and defeated him?" James mocked. "What a joke!"

With Mrs. Weasley dead, the spell she cast on the other four wizards began to wear off. Slowly, they were coming to there senses, working to regain control of their motions. James walked over to a groaning Patrick who was still prone on the floor. He grabbed Patrick's hair and pulled his head off the ground.

"This one here," called James, his voice echoing off the walls, "thinks of you as a brother, Potter. He'd sooner die than see you come to harm. Yet he's betrayed you at my every command. Shall I kill _him_ next?"

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cried, but once again James deflected the spell.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Potter? Even with the skills of the Centaurs, you're as slow as your dead parents. Nonetheless, you could be useful; the Malfoy boy suggested as much. I heard, perhaps, he's not as dead as everyone thinks." He released Patrick whose head cracked against the stone floor. But instead of striking at Harry, James held his wand to the glass display case. _"Diffindo!" _The blast of light struck the glass, but held firm as if swallowing the energy of the blast, the glass began to glow. For the first time, the smile on James Chang's face disappeared. _"Diffindo!"_ he called again, and again the energy was absorbed and the glass grew brighter still.

"You've killed your only chance for opening the case," Harry sneered. "But then… I always heard that that was one of your greatest weaknesses… _TOM_… being stupid!"

Another blast of light shot toward Harry; it was red not green, not a killing curse. Once more, Harry slipped out of its way. This time he moved quickly around and behind James reappearing with his wand drawn.

"_Stupefy!"_ Harry cried, sending a blast of red at James' back, but again the wizard deflected the spell as if swatting a fly and then turned back toward the display case. "You're not trying to kill me, Tom. Why not?"

"I'll kill you sssoon enough," James slithered. "First, the cloak. Then, I need to extract something of mine that you stole from me when you were a baby. Soon, I will be—" Suddenly two more spells came from beyond the fountain. Ron and Hermione had revived themselves enough to fight, but barely.

"No! Get out of here!" Harry screamed. "It's Voldemort! Run!"

"I don't have time for this," cried James, sending three more blasts of light at the glass case. On the third bolt the glass cracked, but only just. Harry could tell that the spells that James had cast over the last few minutes were draining him. He looked tired, almost vulnerable. At the same moment the fires ringing the grand hall roared to life.

"Finally," Harry whispered, "some help." Wizard after wizard appeared at each hearth, brandishing their wands. "Whatever time you thought you had has just expired, Tom."

The room erupted in red light. Seven blasts came at the small wizard by the display case. Two struck true while the others struck the glowing glass, shattering it completely. The large glass shards that scattered the floor, however, were still glowing as brightly as ever. There were more blasts of red directed at Harry.

"It's me!" he yelled. "Harry Potter!"

"Harry!" cried Hermione from the far side of the hall. "It's not the Ministry! It's—" A blast of red dropped her to the ground.

"Hermione!" cried Ron. "He cast a spell knocking the wizard by Hermione backward into the wall with a loud crack. He pointed towards another wizard and ran at him. "Leave her alone, you bloody—" There was a blast of purple and he too fell to the floor.

"We're students!" Harry yelled, but it only focused the attention of another barrage of red bolts his way. Harry cast a shield charm and sent them flying in every conceivable direction. The blasts weakened him. "Are you crazy?! We're—" And then he noticed it – the unmistakably bright emerald green aura of Draco Malfoy, stepping from the flames of one of the fireplaces. He had warned Harry and now it was too late.

Simultaneously, ropes began to swirl about Ron, Hermione, Patrick, and most importantly James who was still motionless on the floor. Somehow Anthony had managed an escape and stood at Harry's side. There were nearly a dozen Death Eaters moving in on them.

"Take the cloak, Draco," drawled a tall wizard in dark black robes with crimson lining.

"Lucius?" Harry sneered in the wizard's direction. "Is that you? I should have known by the sickening yellow colour." The wizard said nothing, trying to ignore Harry. "Now that I'm blind, you're much better looking in — strike that. No you're not. You're still as much a pig as you always were. Still, somehow… missing an arm suits you. How'd you lose it again?" The goading worked.

"Big words for a blind boy, Potter," he snapped.

"Now, now… sticks and stones…. But then I guess six months with Dementors and dullards will curdle anyone's conversational capabilities." Harry could see that Draco was moving over the glowing glass and into the case to retrieve the robe. Harry turned to face him.

"Hey! Blonde bastard! I wouldn't go in there if I were—"

"What's this?" Draco cried out. He had come to Molly Weasley's body. The colour of his aura blanched. "I gave specific orders! Who cast a killing curse?" Harry could tell immediately that Draco was livid.

"Gather the cloak!" yelled Lucius.

"But father—"

"NOW!"

"Don't do it!" yelled Harry.

Draco moved forward toward the case. Suddenly, the shattered glass that was still glowing with the energy it had absorbed exploded in a brilliant white flash. Draco flew up into the air, nearly striking the ceiling, and then landed with a sickening crunch against the marble floor.

"Draco!" cried Lucius. Goldstein took the distraction as his opportunity. His wand erupted with bright bluish light, but instead of being directed at one of the Death Eaters, it was directed toward one of the portraits hanging high on the wall of the grand hall. The portrait sparked, zapping the elderly wizard that had, so far, slept through the ruckus.

"Hey," the wizard in the portrait yelped. "No need for—"

"Get help you idiot!" yelled Goldstein. The wizard in the portrait, seeing the destruction, disappeared instantly. "It won't be long now," Goldstein muttered, staring at the empty portrait.

There was another burst of spells headed at the two wizards and together they fended them off, but Harry was growing weaker by the moment. Lucius ignored Goldstein's call for aid, he ignored the battle of wands, and he ignored the crumpled heap on the floor that was his son. Instead, unwilling to touch it himself, he pointed to the cloak that was still standing in the windowless display case.

"The cloak!" he yelled again. After some hesitation, another Death Eater approached the black cloth and grabbed it just as James, still bound by ropes, began to come to his senses. With lust-filled eyes, Lucius only half glanced at Draco, still motionless on the floor, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. Instead, he focused fully on the black robes held before him.

"Luciusss," uttered James breathlessly, "you fool."

Malfoy wrenched the cloth out of the Death Eater's hands. Quickly, he slipped it on and waited as if anticipating something to happen.

"You expected, maybe, a coronation?" Harry sneered. "Perhaps a crown and trumpets as we all bow down to kiss your arse? It's a stupid piece of cloth!"

"Kill him," Malfoy drawled, pointing with his good arm toward Harry. "KILL HIM!" Harry grabbed Anthony by the arm as the bolts of green approached and in an instant they were on the other side of the resplendent hall that now appeared more like a war zone than the showpiece of the Ministry. Looking back, they saw that the spot where they once stood was nothing now but a crater. Goldstein grabbed Harry's arm.

"How did you do—"

"You are NOT going to miss the wedding," Harry snapped. He took in a deep breath, reaching out with his mind to cull any magic he could from the world around him. He let out a long, slow exhale and pointed his wand at the floor.

"_Festio!"_ he cried, ripping dozens of marble tiles upward and sending them toward his adversaries. The Death Eaters tried to shatter the tiles with spells, but the action only served to create thousands of tiny projectiles all headed in their direction. A few cast shield charms in time, but most were struck. Above the din of screams, Harry could hear James cursing Lucius.

"Release me, you idiot! Release me now." But Malfoy, ignorant of James' true identity, ignored the boy's pleadings. He had what he came for and was beginning to walk toward his son when snaps began to fill the room. Auror after Auror was Apparating within the grand hall. In an instant, spells were flying everywhere. Blast after blast of light, cutting down wizard after wizard, witch after witch. The room was filled with utter mayhem and Harry, his shoulders slumped with weariness, moved to enter the fray. Before Harry could take a full step, Goldstein grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You're no good to anybody dead," he whispered. "We need you, Harry. Me… I'm not much more than canon fodder." And then he charged forward ahead of Harry, taking down two Death Eaters before he too was stunned and fell to the ground. It was then that Harry noticed James. He was beginning to slip free of the bonds that held him. Lucius, on the other hand, had abandoned everyone, including his son, and was racing to the floo. A bolt of orange light struck the wall behind Harry, casting stone and dust down his back. Lucius was about ready to escape. Harry focused on where he needed to be and before Lucius had taken another step, Harry was standing in front of him, blocking the entrance to the fireplace.

"_Silencio!"_ Harry whispered, holding his hand between the cloak's folds of black cloth and directly against Malfoy's chest. The wizard tried to cast a spell, but was mute. "Now, what with the sporty arm and all… that's what I call an improvement. You should remember to button up before you step out, Lucius. Now, take off the cloak before I blast it off." Malfoy's eyes glowed with pure hatred and he raised his wand. _"Expelliarmus!"_ Harry whispered again and Malfoy's wand flew from his hand. There was an expression of surprise in Malfoy's eyes that made Harry smile.

"Now," continued Harry, "as I was saying, take off the—" With a sudden shove from behind, Malfoy fell forward onto Harry and they both tumbled to the floor. It was then that Harry noticed that James had freed himself and now, forgoing the use of a wand, had his hands around Malfoy's throat, squeezing… squeezing. He was in a frenzy of pure hatred and anger.

"Do you know who I am?" cried James. "Look into my eyes!"

Lucius, even Harry, saw the flame of red light in James' eyes.

"N-Not pos-sible," he gasped, unable to breathe. "D-Dead." Then the full realization struck him. "I-I never knew."

"You know now," James spat between gritted teeth. "And now is sssoon enough." A blast of red light came from the far wall and struck James in the side, but before he released his grip on Lucius, a dark acrid smoke issued from his mouth and nostrils. To Harry, it was a stream of green evil leaving the red behind. James' grip on Lucius released and the blonde wizard gasped for air, but instead of air he sucked in nothing but smoke. Voldemort had penetrated him. Stunned, Harry saw the green surround the yellow and snuff it out. Lucius took to his feet as a blast of red struck him in the back. Nothing happened. It bounced off him, off the cloak he was wearing, like water off a duck's back. Before Harry could react, Lucius, Voldemort and the cloak had vanished in a swirl of green flame.

There were a couple more blasts, a couple more snaps, and a couple more screams of pain, but finally the room fell silent. Only the sound of rock scraping against the floor, as the remaining Aurors stepped across the debris, broke the silence.

"Minister, over here. It's your… over here, sir. Please." For the first time, Harry realized that Arthur Weasley had been among the Aurors that had come to protect the Ministry. He watched as the wizard walked toward the shattered display case, while the Auror that called him levitated a wooden beam that had fallen over Molly Weasley up and out of the way. It landed with a dull thud.

"Molly?" he uttered as if trying to gently wake someone from a deep sleep. "Molly," he said again only louder. "MOLLY!" He grabbed his wife in his arms, pulling her up out of the dust; pebbles cascaded to the floor. "Oh my god, no. No… no… no… no… NOOO!" he screamed. The grand hall rumbled, shaking mortar loose from the walls onto the floor below as Mr. Weasley buried his head into the nook of his wife's neck. He continued to heave great sobs as Harry looked down at James, prone on the floor, arms outstretched toward the hearth. The green was gone; only blue remained, but the light was weak and flickered. He was near death. The second year began to grown, slowly looking up to find Harry.

"H-Harry? H-Help… I… I can't…." And he collapsed to the floor. Harry looked around at the devastation. James was not the only one near death. Instinctively, he pulled his wand to summon the Heart of Asha, but before he could cast the spell, snap after snap began to fill the hall; Healers were appearing. In a matter of seconds nearly a dozen Healers had Apparated into the Ministry. One, an older wizard with bushy white hair, was at James' side almost instantly. Scanning the boy with his wand he turned to Harry.

"You're the Potter boy, aren't you?" Without waiting for an answer he said quickly, "Tell me, was it a stunner? Because I'm not detecting any—"

"He was possessed by Voldemort," Harry cut in. The Healer cringed, looking up at Harry with disbelief.

"Look son," he said derisively, "you shouldn't go around—"

"Damn it!" Harry screamed. "His spirit's been sundered! It probably has been all year. Voldemort just left him to take on another host. If you don't hurry, he'll die." For only a second, the Healer tried to read the expression of Harry's face. He was old enough to know what Harry meant. He remembered the old war and he didn't need to be told twice. Without saying another word, the Healer rose to his feet and a flash of tremendous purple light left his wand bathing James in its glow from head to toe.

Harry stepped back, twisting his ankle on a rock beneath his foot. He cursed. Other than the people swarming about the hall, it was difficult to make anything out. His vision was truly failing him in the rocky mess. He could see Mr. Weasley and heard his sobs, and tried to pick his way through the rubble as Auror and Healer alike seemed to pass him by as they rushed to another's aid. It was as if no one knew him, or no one cared. His emotions were sloshing back and forth. He needed to help… he needed to chase after Lucius, after Voldemort… he needed to —"

"Minister!" someone cried out. "Minister! It's your son!" Harry turned his attention on a glow that lay prone on the floor near an Auror's feet.

"My god, Percy?!" cried Mr. Weasley still reeling from the loss of his wife.

"No, sir," the Auror replied. "It's your youngest boy, Ron. Looks like a stunner is all."

"That's not possible," whispered Arthur Weasley, unsure just what to do. "He's at Hogwarts." Then he noticed Harry, stumbling blindly toward him. "Harry? My god, Harry why are you—"

"He's back," said Harry weakly. He was tired and sore, and his right arm was starting to prickle with pain. "Voldemort's back."

"What?"

"A Horcrux," Harry whispered nonsensically, stumbling closer to Mr. Malfoy and rubbing his right forearm with his left hand. It itched. "There must have been more than one. We… we came for the cloak."

"Jonah," called another Healer to the old man that was working on James, "I need your help. It's the Malfoy boy. What's his name, Draco?"

"I thought he was dead?" the old man called back. The younger Healer looked down at Draco and then back up.

"Well, if he wasn't before—"

"You knew?" asked Mr. Weasley, his voice sceptical. Gently he kissed his wife's cheek and lowered her to the floor. "You knew they were coming?"

Harry was feeling dazed. He looked toward Draco, toward Arthur Weasley. His right arm was aching. He had reached Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and his heart began to sink further.

"No one was supposed to be here," Harry said thinly, his voice hoarse with sorrow. "I just wanted to destroy the cloak before… before…" Mr. Weasley rose to his feet.

"She loved you like a son!" he yelled and slapped Harry hard across the face. "AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY HER!"

The blow knocked Harry backwards and he slipped on the loose stones that scattered the floor. Rising to one elbow he could taste the blood that was dripping from his cut lip, and then he noticed his right forearm – it was glowing. A thin etch of a rune had appeared, the Viswa Vajra. Harry had always wondered when it would happen, in what manner it would manifest itself, and even though he'd never seen such a glow, he knew what it meant, and he knew he had no choice but to obey.

The Minister of Magic who had loved Harry as his own son was demanding answers, answers Harry desperately wanted to give. Draco and James lay near death, and Harry had it in his power to easily save them both. Voldemort had escaped with a new body and another piece of his soul, and Harry anxiously needed to chase after them – the Wizarding World was again at risk. Once more, death began to whisper in his ear and he began to shiver.

In spite of that, none of it mattered. He had sworn an oath; it was a burden all members of the Votary carried. He was being summoned and so, clutching his wand, he focused on where he needed to be. He felt a soft touch on his shoulder and heard Hermione call his name. He looked up at her, wishing he could convey the sadness weighing on his soul.

"Harry…"

He was gone.


	17. The Summoning

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 17**** – The Summoning**

When Dakhil left Harry at the stone steps leading to the front doors of Hogwarts Castle, Harry had pleaded that he too fight the onslaught of Dementors and Death Eaters raging against Dakhil's homeland in the Carpathians. The vampire should have been gone for only a few days, but it had been weeks and Dakhil had not returned nor had he sent word of the status of the battle. The Daily Prophet had been worthless, only reporting the difficulties that the various European Ministries were having trying to disguise the numerous atrocities as natural disasters. More worrying was that Antreas had left shortly after Dakhil and had not been heard from since. Everyone who had left to fight seemed to vanish into a great vortex of nothingness.

Before he disappeared, Dakhil had told Harry that his job was to protect Hogwarts, to protect the Centaurs of the Great Forest from a darkness _within_ the school. Harry brushed the notion of darkness inside the castle walls aside, believing it was a backhanded insult toward Harry, but now he was paying for it. Maybe that's why they were summoning him, he had failed in his one mission. Voldemort had not only escaped, but he had captured his Horcrux and was ready to return to power. Or was he?

Voldemort had said he needed only two things in the grand hall of the Ministry – his old black cloak and Harry. He had asked earlier if there was still part of the Dark Lord that coursed through Harry's veins. What James, what Voldemort didn't know was that the darkness, Voldemort's stain, had been washed away by the Cleansing of the falls in the Great Forest. Perhaps, Voldemort was too weak without this other part of himself, perhaps—

It was hot, painfully hot – the first thing Harry noticed when he finally appeared at the summoning site – hot and dark. Not dark in the sense that there was no light, although it was that too; a lack of light wouldn't matter to a blind man. No, it was dark in the sense that Harry saw nothing. There was no life here, no life in any direction, just heat, an intense, blistering heat that appeared, to Harry, like a dull haze as he looked to the night sky and saw Ebyrth shining as bright as ever.

He had been able to Apparate across the Channel. From there he had tried once more, but couldn't make it across Germany. He was drained, unable to cast another spell, and the richness of the earth's energy, normally plentiful in this area, was parched like an arid desert. There was nothing for Harry to draw on to replenish what magical energy he could cast. Instead, he used the powers of the Centaurs to bend space and slow time, and he ran. He ran until his shoes wore through and fell away; he ran over rivers that supported his weight as if they were frozen solid; he ran past flying birds that hovered in the air like floating balloons. He ran for what felt like days, stopping only to drink from the occasional stream or brook. At one point, just outside Vienna, he had grabbed half of a sandwich from the hand of a passer-by who might as well have been a statue frozen in time. His legs ached, his lungs wanted to burst and all he could hear was the voice of Ronan compelling him forward, not to meet the call of the Centaur, but to answer the summoning of the dragon.

By the time he had begun the final ascent, his mind was blurred with fatigue. He had paid no notice to the mountain he had been climbing. Sweat burning his blind eyes, he had ignored the screams and the fires through which he had past. He didn't see the transition from life to death. He only knew one thing – the summoning site. He would not fail again, even as the last drops of strength left his being.

This… this was the spot; he was sure. Huge gulps of air splashed down his burning lungs unable to quench his thirst for oxygen. His bare feet burned. Almost forgetfully, he held out his wand, hand shaking from exhaustion and mind knowing that he would not be able to cast a spell even if he wanted to. Sweat dripped down his forehead; the heat was unbearable. He stood for a moment, wand outstretched, squinting with failed eyes into the darkness. Merlin, it was hot. He moved to take a step forward, an acrid odour filling his nostrils, when his left leg cramped and he fell face first hard into the stony ground. He didn't have the energy to pull away from the scorching stone, nor could he spit out the sand and tiny pebbles that filled his mouth and burned his tongue.

"Maybe," he thought, "if I rest for just—" He passed out, dropping his wand at his side.

Unconscious on the sweltering earth, swirls of smoke and light coalesced in his mind forming a scene of darkness and despair. Even in his dream the smell of burning flesh was unbearable. Yet, in his dream he could see – his vision, his sight was as good as ever. The smoke and the smell cleared and he found himself at the falls, the falls where Gabriella lay face down in the tall grass, an arrow sunk deep into her back. In the air was sadness. No… more than sadness – there was anger. Harry looked across the shimmering water, the moon and a great comet shimmering off its surface. There, on an outcrop of rocks, stood Severus Snape, his face white with horror and his raging eyes on fire. He looked up toward the night's sky and let loose a piercing scream.

"NOOOOOOO!"

The earth shook.

"Take him! Take him now! Hurry!"

The scene changed. He was flying… flying in the air. Bounce. On a Hippogriff. Bounce. Harry felt a jarring pain against the side of his ribs. He blinked. The blindness had returned, but he could sense that there was a light beneath him. Bounce. A person.

"Hurry!"

The voice… he knew that voice. The darkness was clearing from his mind. He was waking. He was being carried. A group of five was climbing up the side of the mountain. One had Harry over his shoulder. Weakly, Harry began to struggle to free himself.

"Easy, Harry," the young man holding him said gently, but with some urgency in his voice. "When we get you back to the stronghold, we'll take a look at the burns. Praise Asha you're a member of the Votary, or you'd be dead."

"An-Antreas?" Harry muttered. He hadn't heard the voice of Gabriella's brother since the summer, but there was still no mistaking the undeniable intonation that was the exact replica of Antreas' father, Grigor. "What… What's going on?"

"There will be time for answers later!" cried another voice. "Run!" Harry knew at once the other man speaking. He also recognized the aura; it was Dakhil. Troubling was the sense of concern, even fright in Dakhil's voice. He'd never heard that before, even when they were being attacked by vampires last summer. What was more troubling, however, was something that had bothered Harry since his last lesson with Ronan, something he had seen in Dakhil ever since the vampire first taught him to see without seeing. The aura of Dakhil faded from red to purple and back to red again. There were two personas present in his aura. For the first time since he'd arrived at the Mountain of Singehorn, Harry felt cold.

They continued to rush up the mountain. Occasionally, Dakhil or one of the others would cast spells back in the direction from which they came. Harry could not see, nor could he sense what it was they were firing upon. Curiously, there were no spells cast in return. Soon, he began to notice trees, vegetation, life. After a few minutes more, the band came to a large stone wall. One of the men cast a spell and an entrance appeared. They passed through and the opening in the stone sealed behind them. The entire troupe sighed with relief once they entered the compound.

"What… what's going on?" Harry asked weakly. "Where are we? Who were you firing at? What—?"

"Slow down. Slow down," cut in Antreas. "Let me see your face." Antreas lifted Harry's chin up and examined the left side, the same side that fell unconscious into the scorching earth. He reached up and pulled the glasses from Harry's face, glasses he continued to wear in the hope, or perhaps as a symbol to others, that one day he might see again. There was an unmistakable tearing sound, and Harry could feel the plastic rims pull away from the skin on his face. When he reached to take the glasses out of Antreas' hand, he could tell that the left half of the frame was nearly melted away. He didn't want to think what his face must look like. It didn't hurt. Harry moved to touch it but Antreas grabbed his hand.

"No!" he snapped, half trying to quell the distress in his own voice. He chuckled, but not convincingly. "It… it's nothing, Harry. It's just best if you don't—"

"See that he has his own Healer's tent at once!" ordered Dakhil to one of the other men that were in the group. The man began to slowly limp away. "Hurry," Dakhil yelled. "Hurry before there's nothing left of his face to put back together!" If Antreas had tried to calm Harry's nerves, Dakhil had served to dismember them. "You two," Dakhil continued pointing at two men they had passed as they entered into the compound. "Help carry the boy into the cave. I won't lose another one tonight!"

With Antreas' help, they carried Harry further up the mountain. Dakhil followed, but was unwilling to assist. _Typical_, Harry thought. There was a small outcrop of rocks off to the side and they turned toward it as Dakhil continued upward. Antreas stopped.

"If Singehorn is unable to call the others in time," he said, "we'll have to send for the Centaur you spoke of."

"You were brave today, my son," said Dakhil warmly. "It is clear your father is with you. Your mother would be proud. Keep the boy safe and see what the Healer can do with what remains." He turned to continue upward then stopped. "Singehorn, I'm afraid, was not able to call for our friends, not tonight." He sighed with a deep mournful breath. "Still we must stay with the plan; it's our only hope. More may arrive before the moon's rise tomorrow."

Facing a stone wall, one of the men carrying Harry said something in a language he thought might be Russian and again an archway appeared where before was only rock and stone. Just before the rock face closed behind them Antreas called back to Dakhil who had followed them most of the way

"And the Centaur?" he called.

"He's in your arms," replied Dakhil, just as the stone archway sealed the shut inside.

"Crazy," said the Russian, referring to Dakhil. "He'll kill us all." There was a wand at his neck in an instant; it was Antreas'. Harry felt like he was about to be dropped.

"There are so many injured here," said Antreas with a heated voice, "I'm sure no one would miss you. The next time you speak of the Votary, take care to choose the words carefully. I may have to excise the offending tongue." The Russian said nothing as Antreas pulled the wand back and the grip on Harry became more sure. They turned a corner and the cave opened out into a great hall filled with injured. To Harry, it looked as if a hundred lights had been spread across the floor. Almost immediately a murmur rippled across the large cavern.

"_Is that him?" "The Chosen__!" "My god what happened to his face?" "Dragons." "It's just a boy." "That's not him; some Muggle must have been caught in the crossfire." "He's the Chosen!"_

"Marek!" cried Dakhil. "Marek! This is a priority!" Harry noticed an orange colour on the far side rise up from the ground. Marek was busy treating another patient and as he stood, Harry could tell that he was a large man.

"They're ALL priorities!" he called back. "Have one of the others—"

"Damn it! NOW!" yelled Antreas. This was not the same Antreas that had waved good-bye to Harry and Gabriella as they began their summer vacation. That Antreas was still trying to perfect his wand work, and his confidence interacting with people was shaky at best. While he made a passable neighbour on Privet Drive, he was an absolute mess around other wizards. _This_ Antreas, however, the one standing before Harry, was more than just a foot soldier in this mountain battle. He was clearly someone of import.

Disgruntled, but acquiescing, Marek began to cross the hall as the three moved Harry into one of the tents that were set up along the side of the large chamber. He was placed on a bed, firm, but more comfortable than a blanket on the stone floor outside. Once he was down, the two men left Antreas alone with Harry. For some time neither spoke and Harry noted his friend's discomfort.

"What is it Antreas?" Harry asked. As he spoke, Harry noticed that the side of his face didn't seem to move correctly. Still, there was no pain.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Antreas replied. "If I had known… We were losing ground and… Dakhil must have thought it would be safe. Our outer perimeter was half a mile down the mountain when he must have asked Singehorn to summon you. But then, they came so fast."

"Who?"

"The Dementors. They've been swarming the mountain for days. They've grown so thick they can blot out the sun and when that happens it gives their allies, a band of about thirty wizard vampires, free rein to attack during the day. This wasn't our war, but ultimately the dragons had no choice. The Dementors were moving in on their rookery. Half a dozen dragons left to scorch the earth and leave no life behind. Not even a member of the Votary could survive such fire. We had no way of letting you know, no way of knowing ourselves when… that you'd…" A big burst of air shot from Antreas' lips.

"_Dakhil_ had Singehorn summon me?"

"Harry, there was no way of knowing. You passed out right in the centre of the incineration. It had to have been over two hundred degrees. One of the sentries saw you first, but it was too hot. Only the Votary could get in to retrieve you." Harry remembered Dakhil walking through the burning flames just before the Joining; he understood these words. "The Joining helped you to survive, training would have been better. Your face… you've been burned… badly burned."

"But it doesn't hurt," Harry said. He was feeling more tired by the minute.

"That's because there's nothing left to hurt. Your flesh is—" Marek pushed through the opening of the tent.

"And what's this priority?" he said wearily. "Another case of damn Dementor frost— Oh… Oh, my." He cast Antreas a glance. "One of the civilians?" he asked, not recognizing the young man he'd met over the summer. "A Muggle caught in the fire?" Assessing the large stature of the man before him and listening closely to his voice, it was Harry who first made the connection. It was the same Marek that had taken in Ron, Hermione and the others after the vampire attack.

"Marek?" Harry asked hoarsely, finding it more difficult by the minute to move his jaw. "It's me, Harry… Harry Potter. I could… I could sure use a glass of water."

"Yes… I remember. You've put on a few pounds. Physical training?"

"He's joined a Centaur heard in England," said Antreas.

"So this is the one Dakhil spoke of. That would explain things. Yes, that would explain a lot." Marek reached into his robes. "I haven't had to deal with one of these for years," Marek whispered, "but with dragons about, such burns are not uncommon. Praise Asha you're Votary." He leaned in close to Harry. "What happened to your eyes?"

"Glass," Harry replied, wearily. "Lots of glass."

"Hmmm. Well, let's get started. Harry, lie back." Harry obliged. "I have something far better than a glass of water." He watched Marek raise his wand over his burned face. "This should only take a few hours."

"Hours?" Harry said, bringing up his hand to grab Marek's wrist. "I won't take you away from helping the others just because I buggered it again."

"It's not your fault, Harry," said Antreas. "There's no way you could have known."

"Yes, admirable qualities, Harry. But as Antreas has said—"

"I am NOT a priority! I won't—" Blue light erupted from Marek's wand and before he could say another word, Harry was asleep on the cot and Marek began his work. The last thing he remembered was a crackling sound and Marek's sombre voice.

"_That'll leave a mark."_

Time faded to nothingness and, when Harry woke, he sensed someone sitting at his bedside. "Gabriella?" he asked groggily.

"You wish, mate!"

"Fred? Fred is that you?"

Slowly, Harry began to regain consciousness. He tried to lean up, but someone pressed gently back on his shoulder. His eyes closed, Harry sensed that there were two people in the room. Shaking the cobwebs free, he finally recognized the aura of the other person.

"Remus?"

"Yes, Harry," replied Remus Lupin, "Fred and I are both here. We have been for about three days."

"Three days!" Harry exclaimed, once again trying to rise and once again being held down by Remus. "I've been here for three days?"

"No, ditz," Fred laughed. "_We've_ been here for three days. You've been here for about, er, fourteen hours."

"We came as soon as we heard you had arrived," Remus added.

"I swear, Harry," said Fred, leaning forward. "Can you ever do anything the easy way?"

While Fred was talking, Harry realized there was something on his face. He reached his hands up and felt the bandages wrapping his head.

"An interesting look, if you ask me," said Fred. "Kind of a turban gone mad. All in all I'd say it's an improvement. The great thing is, Harry, they gave you a whole new head! Moody volunteered his." Fred laughed again and this time Remus joined him. A cold shiver passed through Harry. It had suddenly sunk in that Fred… Fred Weasley, was in the same room and if he'd been here for three days, he might not know….

"Why aren't you home?" Harry asked. "Where's George?"

"I'm flying solo, mate," said Fred. "George is minding the shops."

"No one can travel in or out," said Remus. "Apparition is impossible. It's a miracle that you made it alive. I'm sorry that—"

"What about messages," Harry interrupted. "Can messages get in?"

"Not for two days," said Remus. "The Dementors have the whole mountainside surrounded. I tried a Patronus. It passed through a few dozen, but there are just too many."

"Then you don't know," Harry said with urgency. He sat up and this time when Remus moved to push him back down, Harry flicked his arm away. Harry tried to face Fred, but. Fred only laughed.

"You look like a walking ice-cream cone, Harry."

"Fred," Harry began, muffled by the bandages surrounding his face. He tried to muster up the courage, but in the last moment it failed him. "W-Why are you even here?"

"Tonight, we go on the offensive. We're through sitting back and letting Lucius Malfoy and his army of darkness decide when and where to strike. They're mostly vampires and Dementors with a handful of Death Eaters sprinkled in for good measure. Last we heard Lucius may have let himself get turned."

"Turned?" Harry asked.

"The scouts were out early this morning, Harry," said Remus, moving over and sitting next to Fred. "We've seen him off and on in these parts for weeks. Only this morning… this morning they say he looked more vampire than wizard."

"He let himself be bitten, I tell yeh," added Fred. "Just to achieve immortality."

Harry felt as if he was going to be sick. If Lucius was here that meant Voldemort was here. _Were they looking for him? For Harry?_ His heart began to race. There was too much to do and too little time. He needed to tell someone, but whom? His breaths quickened and Remus took notice.

"Harry… you need to—"

"He's alive!" Harry shouted. "He's still alive!" There was a short pause. Remus knew almost immediately what Harry meant, but wasn't sure if his words were the result of some sort of side-effect from one of the potions. Fred didn't understand.

"What do you mean, Harry? Who's alive?"

"Voldemort," gasped Harry, taking in a great breath of air through the bandages covering his face. He walked over to the side of the tent and held the fabric in his fingers. To his mind, it had a dull orange appearance, probably spores of some sort. He didn't want to say more; he couldn't. But he had to. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest – it hurt. His breathing grew laboured, weighed down by the burden of what he was about to share.

"Somehow… I don't know… I don't know how, but he took control of James Chang, Cho's younger brother. He's been inside James, controlling him all year at school. He was waiting for something… something important. Then I heard that they had discovered Voldemort's old cloak. It had survived even though he was destroyed. It was there… what he wanted… at the Ministry. They brought it back out of the ashes of his demise. They dug deep, your father dug deep for what should have been left to the depths."

"Yeah," said Fred cautiously, not really sure what to think about Harry's ramblings. "Mum and Dad were all excited. It was supposed to be a big deal. Sorry we had to pull you away from the award ceremony to be in this hellhole. I'm not supposed to tell, but Dad's lined you up for Order of Merl—"

"It was a Horcrux," hissed Harry through gritted teeth. Remus understood and gasped, but Fred still didn't grasp what Harry was saying. "Can you believe it? Lucius wanted it for himself – maybe to extract whatever essence Voldemort had left of himself in it." Harry madly grabbed Fred's robes. "Don't you see? I had to destroy it… to destroy the cloak."

"Calm down, Harry," said Fred slowly, his eyes glancing toward Remus with concern. "Everything's okay."

"No it's not!" yelled Harry, turning from Fred and leaned against the bed. "We just wanted to take it, Ron, Hermione and me… only _they_ showed up… and then… when we got inside… your Mum was there… and then James… I thought it was an Imperious Curse. I thought I'd be able to control him." He breathed hard again. "But I couldn't. It wasn't a curse, it was Voldemort. I couldn't stop him. I tried—" He turned back to face Fred. "He… Voldemort used the Killing Curse, Fred. I tried… I swear on Merlin's grave… I tried."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" Fred's words were quiet, nervous and unsure.

"Last night, before Singehorn summoned me, in the grand entrance hall of the Ministry, Voldemort… Voldemort killed your mother." Short gasps of air burst from Harry's lungs and he fell on his knees in front of Fred. "She's dead… she's… dead." Clutching at the bottom of Fred's robes, Harry began to heave great sobs. His voice was weak and thin. "She's dead." Fred pushed Harry away and took to his feet.

"Stop saying that!" he yelled. "She's not dead! She's not! I just saw her before we came here. She was going to… she was going…" He slapped his hand against the bed. "You're just messed up… the potions. You… you were dreaming… that's all. A- a- a- hallucination or something!" He turned to Remus.

"Remus! Tell him! Tell Harry it was just a dream… a bad dream, that's all." Remus was quiet, stoic. He didn't speak and he didn't move. Fred pulled his wand and held it in Remus' face.

"TELL HIM!"

Remus held his arms out wide and, slowly, shook his head.

"No." Fred whispered, shaking his head vigorously in reply. "No, it's not… it's not… oh god."

His hands fell limp at his sides and his wand dropped to the floor, tinkling and then rolling in the silence. Fred shuddered, fell into Lupin's arms and began to cry.

They stayed like that for some time, Harry on the floor, Fred in Lupin's arms, all three of them crying. Until now, Harry hadn't had the chance to mourn Molly's death. The pain was deep and biting. In the tears and silence, Harry wished he could take it back. His actions had cost another life and the anger in Arthur Weasley's voice echoed within his mind.

His thoughts turned to the others who had been murdered in the battle and he wondered if James had made it. "I may never know," he whispered to himself.

As the sadness began to subside, he mulled over how Fred and Remus had described the scout's sighting of Lucius. If the reports were true and Malfoy had returned to the mountain, then Molly's murderer was within reach. Harry's pain began to turn to anger. The flap on the tent furled open and in walked Marek

"Remus, I— What in Merlin's name is up with you three?" he said with a rather gruff voice.

"We just found out. Fred's mother has been killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," answered Remus calmly.

"That… that's not possible," said Marek, half believing the words to be true. Fred turned, wiping his eyes.

"I've got to see if I can get home," he said. He started toward the exit, but Marek took him by the arm.

"Fred, we're surrounded."

The redhead pulled his arm free.

"I have to go home."

"It'd be suicide, Fred."

"I don't care."

"Don't you think your mother would!" chided Remus. "AND your father. What do you think it would do to him to lose you both?" Fred said nothing. "If you're going to put your life on the line, Fred, make it count; make it matter." Remus stepped toward him and held Fred by the shoulders, looking him in the eyes.

"Tonight," he said with confidence and surety. "Tonight, you'll have your chance, Fred."

"Why tonight?" asked Harry.

"There are about sixty of us, Harry," said Remus, "counting me and Fred. Tonight the moon turns full. We'll attack with the dragons, a few dozen Centaurs, and—"

"Full moon?" asked Harry. He picked himself up off the floor and stood. "Full moon? I thought Soseh had given you a potion, given you both one to keep you from turning."

"She did, Harry," answered Remus. "But we haven't taken it during the cycle. There are few creatures on earth that can challenge a vampire. Surrounded by Dementors as they are now, even wizards have little hope of conducting an effective attack. They're a werewolf's natural prey; Dementors and Vampires share a darkness that… How can I put it? Is tasty for a werewolf."

"Better than chocolate, they tell me," added Fred, with an eerie gleam in his eye.

"Besides the dragons," added Remus, "only one creature can break through both defences. Dakhil discussed it with me some time ago and we both agreed – we needed a werewolf army. I couldn't convince most, but I've convinced enough."

"Sixty doesn't make an army, Remus," said Harry, stepping closer. "Sixty is a snack."

"What you say is true, Harry – werewolf blood is prized among the vampires. Still, I think our adversaries will be surprised," said Remus with quiet confidence. "Yes, we could have more in our number, but even with Arthur as Minister, the distrust of my kind runs deep."

"_Our_ kind, Remus! And they'll be more than surprised," snapped Fred. "They'll be bloody petrified!"

"Well," said Harry sardonically, "_bloody_ anyway."

The bandages wrapping his face were hot and heavy and he was only just able to resist the temptation to rip them off so that he could scratch the itch that was growing stronger by the minute. He placed both his hands flat against the firm bed, curling the covers in his fingers as they balled up into fists. Without looking up, he took in a breath and swallowed.

"Remus… Fred… You need to understand everything. Lucius Malfoy isn't a vampire. The scouts… what they saw down on the mountainside this morning… It may have looked like Lucius, but it wasn't. Yeah, he's been taken over alright, but not by a vampire. His spirit has been consumed by Voldemort. Lucius _is_ Voldemort." He turned to face them. "Sixty werewolves, sixty dragons, sixty of anything… it won't be enough." Hearing Harry's words, Remus stepped forward and placed a hand warmly about Harry's neck.

"No, Harry," he said. "No, it won't be enough. But then, it never was. That's why we have you."


	18. The Ring of Onyx

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 18**** – The Ring of Onyx**

**~~~***~~~**

The stone steps were large, larger it seemed to Harry, than they were when last he entered this plane. Yet, the same thin white clouds dusted the blue sky, and the heated air brought Harry's mind back to his summer travels in Lebanon with Gabriella. His mind's eye flashed to a vision of her smooth, dark brown skin and twinkling black eyes, and he wondered how she was fairing with Cho and his son, Jamie. His stomach churned at the thought and he drew in a breath to steady his nerves. He stepped upward through the large stone pillars, upward toward the remains of the great Asian castle. Up ahead, seated on a crystal bench intricately carved in an elaborate pattern was a large black man in green and brown robes – Singehorn.

On the eve of the counterattack, the dragon had asked that the young wizard meet him in this plane of consciousness that they might speak with one another. Here, in this other world, Harry could not only speak to the dragon, he could see. He had no bandaged head, no wand, only a white robe and bare feet that withstood the scorching heat beneath them. In the cave where Harry's corporeal body sat in meditation, the others were preparing for war. Soon, the moon would rise, the werewolves, including Remus and Fred, would turn and the battle would begin. It had taken Harry quite some time to close out all the distractions that were happening about him, but finally he had arrived.

As he drew closer to the dragon, the descendent of Asha whose line Harry had sworn to protect, he noticed that the man looked more aged than before and that his breathing was heavy, laboured. With effort, Harry heaved himself upward onto another stone step, and then another. On the step before reaching the landing where Singehorn sat in one of the two crystal benches, Harry saw a large ring made of black onyx. He stopped for a moment to look at it. The dragon coughed a bottomless throaty cough.

"Go on," he said with a deep scratchy voice. "Pick it up."

Harry reached down and took the ring into his right hand. It was heavier than he expected, as if it contained some small, invisible burden. It was too large for his own hand, looking more like it belonged to the large, clawed fingers of the man before him. Holding it in the fingers of both hands he examined it from all sides.

"I… I know this ring," Harry said, trying to remember how or from where. "I've seen it before." Singehorn shifted his tremendous weight and grimaced somewhat.

"The ring," he said, "is known to many, but few alive today have seen it with their own eyes. For those few who saw it born on the finger by its last master, it was most likely the last thing they saw. He was known for using the ring to kill." Suddenly, Harry remembered.

"Pravus," he whispered, remembering the portrait of the dark wizard's hand Greg Goyle had shown him last year. Singehorn growled, long and low. Clearly, he did not enjoy the sound of the name.

"Curious that you should know that name, let alone that you can associate the ring to it."

Harry did not answer, but considered the events that had precipitated from that night of elucidation, elicited by none other than Greg Goyle. Singehorn growled again.

"But then," he continued, "you have already been entrusted to one of his other prize possessions – the Heart of Asha. He used neither well." Singehorn's eyes were distant and the crystal bench creaked under his shifting weight. He sighed, considered Harry for a moment and then said, "Very well. Come… sit."

Harry climbed the last large step and tried to brush away the dust from the front of his white robes which had grown brown from the desert sand. Singehorn laughed and, as Harry looked up, the man's mouth erupted in flames, enveloping Harry in a great white flash. In the next instant, the robes were purest white again and Harry was unscathed. Harry examined his hands, expecting to see scorch marks, but nothing was there.

"Sit," said Singehorn again. Unlike his last visit with the man before him, the young wizard sat obediently across from his superior.

"My child… not for fifty years has that ring been held by human hands, not since I tore off the arm of the wizard that betrayed us all. When Pravus was destroyed and Grindelwald defeated, I thought for certain the darkness had been, at last, beaten back for good. I was young then and naïve, but not so naïve as to trust in men again, least of all wizards."

"But Dakhil," said Harry. "You trust him."

"Do I, Harry? Do I?" There was another low grumble as Singehorn leaned forward. Harry noticed a thin, light scar that ran along the man's face, a scar that wasn't there before the Joining. Over the last few months, the dragon had seen battle, but where? The east?

"Do you see the ring on Dakhil's fingers?" he continued. "No, Harry… Soseh trusts Dakhil and I would trust one of the House of Hayk with my life. Dakhil's fate lies on a different path than what we are about to discuss, perhaps a nobler path."

"You need to know, sir," said Harry with some urgency in his voice, worrying that Singehorn might actually believe that Dakhil could be noble. "I've seen… I've seen two spirits inside him. He may be under the control of another, or worse he may be a carrier of evil." Singehorn smiled and began to laugh. It was loud and thunderous, not the reaction Harry had expected.

"He's a vampire, my child," the dragon said finally. "He fights the spirit inside him every waking moment. Few have learned to control the thirst for fresh blood, the desire for death. None have fought more heroically than Dakhil Barghouti to stave off his own personal demon. But his path will soon lead elsewhere and I will need someone to take up his staff as Primate of the Votary. He preferred the choice be made now, before his fate befalls him."

It took a moment to realize that Singehorn might actually be considering him to take over the leadership of the Votary. The idea was ludicrous; Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. Rolling the ring in his fingers he looked up at Singehorn then back down at the ring. What did it do? How much power did it truly wield? Finally, he set it in his palm and held it out to the dragon.

"I can't, sir," he said, shaking his head. "Whatever powers this ring holds, I'm not ready."

"What? No questions about what the ring does? What strength it might bring you?"

"No, sir," Harry replied, reaching yet further toward Singehorn. The dragon did not remove the ring from Harry's palm, but instead leaned back on the bench.

"Would you not take this trinket if it might help you defeat the one who killed Molly Weasley and so many more?" Harry shook his head. "What if it would help you win the war against these Dementors, saving the lives of countless Centaurs; these creatures you seem to care so much about?" Singehorn leaned in again. His yellow eyes did not blink. "Are you so sure that you would not wish to finally destroy the creature that killed your parents?"

For a moment, Harry's outstretched arm receded. Once more he held the ring between thumb and forefinger, wondering what strength it might bring him. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Finally, he shook his head once more.

"No, sir," he said softly still rolling the ring in his fingers. "When I was last here, you reminded me our calling: Bravery… Wisdom… Love." Harry shuddered, swallowing hard. "You also told me that I needed to work on my wisdom." Harry took in a deep breath as his eyes grew misty. "But I've been precious short in that regard all year, eh? I brought Voldemort into the Ministry. I brought him face-to-face with Mrs. Weasley. I should have known…. I should have been… _wiser._ Now, he's at your doorstep, threatening to destroy all we stand for." Holding back his tears, Harry held the ring out once again. "I have the stone and I can now bend its powers to heal the injured and the sick. That's enough. Whatever powers this ring bears, there are others more worthy than me."

With lightening speed, frighteningly fast for such a large frame, Singehorn grabbed Harry's hand in his own, his massive paw wrapping around Harry's entire fist and arm, squeezing the ring into the flesh of Harry's palm and scorching the back of Harry's hand. His yellow eyes glared with steeled determination into Harry's and his claws drew blood from Harry's flesh.

"Tell me, my son, when the darkness spreads across this mountain and threatens my children and my children's children what will you do? There are only so many rocks to climb and the clouds will not protect us." Harry said nothing. "When your friends charge down the mountainside to join my kin in the attack against the sludge that surrounds us, will you hide… a blind rat in a dark cave?" The dragon's claws dug deeper, but Harry refused to cry out.

"I'd… sooner… die."

"Harry, the monster seeks you out, but he does not want you dead, not yet. He thinks he needs you alive, but he doesn't know that what he seeks is no longer there, washed away by the falls at Hogwarts. Without the energy he once shared with you, he is but half a man, half a wizard. In his ignorance, in his weakened state, he can be defeated."

"Then I don't need the ring," Harry said calmly, withstanding the pain.

"If only it was so simple," sighed Singehorn, still holding Harry's hand firm. "Before the Cleansing at the falls, you joined."

"Joined?"

"The darkness that was once in your veins… now flows through another's."

Harry's heart began to race. _Another's?_

"Your inherited, now blessed by the House of—"

"Jamie?" Harry asked. "Is it Jamie?"

"You would sooner die than see my children harmed. What would you do to protect _your_ children?" asked Singehorn.

"My… son."

Harry's fingers, almost instinctively, tightened around the ring burning the flesh of his palm and in that instant his vision filled with a tremendous flash of white. Singehorn's voice became dark and ominous.

"I will not say your decision is wise, but it is our only course. Forgive me, my child, for the power will consume you. Soseh has foreseen your greed turn to grief. On the day the dragons mark the sky, you will begin to know your true strength. How you emerge from your failing will determine the fate of us all."

Suddenly, Harry's sight was gone, all before him dark. He tried to call out, but the air rushed from his lungs. When he breathed in, the damp musty odour of the bandages that wrapped his face filled his nostrils.

"We've got to go, sir," said a wizard somewhere to Harry's left.

"If I have to tell you one more time to be quiet, I'll rip your throat out," snapped Dakhil in a low, hissing voice. "We will go when Singehorn says we can go. Do NOT disturb the boy."

Still seated on the floor, his legs folded beneath him, Harry reached out his mind and sensed the two men arguing to his left. The one, a bright blue aura was clearly frightened; the other flashed red and then purple. The red appeared to be winning and Harry wasn't sure that was a good thing for the man in blue whose colour was fading so fast it appeared he might just wet himself. He wasn't the only one nearby that was frightened. In the large cavern just beyond the rock wall where Harry sat, scores of men mulled about nervously waiting for the final order to attack. Harry was about to move, to indicate to the others that he had returned, when the orange colour of Marek moved into the room where he sat.

He slipped over and placed his hand on Dakhil's back and the two walked to the far side of the tent. They whispered and then the whispers grew louder.

"Marek," Dakhil hissed, "I need to know. What is your opinion?"

"As a Healer or a Warrior?" the man that had worked on Harry's face replied. He was upset, irritated perhaps of the battle that would soon be bringing the dying to his doorstep. "If we were home, I'd leave the bandages on for at least another week."

"The boy can't fight like that."

"Then leave the boy behind."

Two voices harmonized: "No!" Simultaneously, Harry and Dakhil rejected Marek's suggestion.

"You've returned," said Dakhil quietly. "Good. The time is near. The full moon will soon rise over the side of the mountain. We must take advantage of every minute it brings us the werewolves' strength. Dawn will come far too quickly I'm afraid."

Harry held his hand to his face. "And these? You can remove these?"

"Really, Harry," answered Marek, "if only you could spare two more days… two more."

"The battle will be over by morning," said Harry, "and I can't fight with this rag weighing me down. It's sweaty enough as it is, and I can barely breathe."

"Then don't fight," Marek said to Harry. Then he turned to Dakhil. "What possible advantage does a boy bring this battle beyond more bloodshed?" Steadying his feet on the dusty rock, Harry stood.

"I am no boy!" he said defiantly. Marek ignored him.

"Dakhil," the Healer continued, "there is no reason to put this child's life… What? What is it?"

There was silence. Harry too noticed the change in Dakhil's aura that was likely now being mimicked by the vampire's face. The red had darkened into a rich scarlet – the emotion was a strong one, whatever it was.

"Dakhil, what are you looking at?" Marek continued.

As Harry stood, his hands, which had been covered by the sleeves of his robes while he sat, became exposed. There, on the centre finger of Harry's right hand was a ring. Angry at being called a boy, Harry had not noticed the added weight on his finger.

"Well… that can't be good," said Dakhil with a rather cool voice. "I had asked for a choice, but… tonight? I do not feel in my bones that tonight—"

"I'll take the damn bandages off myself if I have to," cried Harry, reaching for his wand. It was then, when finger met wood, that he realized there was a ring on his right hand. He let go his wand and held the ring with his left hand. He moved to take it off, but the ring would not move. He pulled again, and again the ring held its grip about the bone of his right middle finger.

"I once had hoped he might see fit to give it to me," said Dakhil with more disappointment than anger. "No matter. Soseh has seen what is to come and as certain as blood will flow this very night, she has told him."

"Told him what?" asked Harry, still trying to work the ring from his finger.

"Damn the day I met you, boy," said Dakhil, again in a quiet, matter of fact tone. "She's seen my death, which is not such a great concern for a vampire when such events can be centuries hence." He paused.

"And?" Harry asked.

"And you were there, boy. You were there." Dakhil moved closer. "So, either you're going to wander down the mountainside, get bit and live to a very ripe old age as an immortal, or I'm going to die before the summer solstice. Curse you," Dakhil said dryly. "I always wanted to make it to the millennium."

"You're both talking gibberish," said Marek. "Would you STOP that," he said to Harry. "You're starting to bleed." Harry turned his senses downward and watched as the glowing drips of blood fell to the floor from his finger. Marek pulled his wand and healed the finger. "Now leave the damn ring alone. Here, let me remove it."

He cast a spell and nothing happened, nothing but the scratchy laughter from Dakhil. He tried a different spell and still the ring stayed clamped about Harry's finger.

"We don't have time for this," said Harry finally. "Look, just take the bandages off. Place a shield charm about the skin if you must, but I can't—"

"Very well," cut in Marek with a sigh. "But it's not your skin that I was worried about. "Sit over here." He led Harry to a stone bench.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Well, Harry, while I was working on your face, I thought I might see if I couldn't do something about your eyes. The heat beaded the glass, but did not damage your eyes. I was able to remove the rounded beads, without causing more damage… I think."

"But I've seen nothing," said Harry. "Certainly through this gauze, I could discern—"

"I've sealed your lids shut so the eyes beneath could heal as the spell worked and weaved." He stepped closer to Harry. "Son, two more days… two more days and I'm sure that the knitting will be complete."

"And I'll see again?" asked Harry with a glint of hope in his voice.

"You might."

"Well… look… it's dark anyway," Harry said, his emotions swirling with exhilaration and fear. "Take off the bandages and leave my eyes sealed. I'll be better off not trying to discern objects in the darkness. I've gotten used to not seeing and trying to squint in the murky night may just make things worse."

"There's the problem," said Dakhil. "The objects you wish to discern are Dementors. They suck the life from all about them. To your vision they would be darkness and on the scorched mountainside where very little life remains, it would be near impossible to detect them."

At this it was Harry's turn to laugh.

"Dakhil, I don't need my sight to know when a Dementor is breathing down my neck. I'll know where they are, believe me, I'll know."

"Then it's decided," said Marek. "I'll remove your bandages, but keep your eyes sealed. If you make it through the night Harry, your face should be re-wrapped immediately. A shield charm might be acceptable for walking around school or sitting about the house. It will be worthless against a well placed hex."

"Get on with it," said Harry. "I can hear the howling already."

And indeed he could, they all could. Some of the wizard werewolves were growing anxious. Outside, the moon was nearing the crest of the eastern horizon and some were having difficulty controlling their metamorphosis even inside the cavern, away from the moonshine. Typically, such difficulties were had by newly converted werewolves, those who had recently _become_. Harry wondered how Fred was fairing.

When Dakhil removed the gauze bandages, Harry immediately reached up to his face to touch, but the shield charm stopped his fingers.

"It feels like an eggshell," Harry whispered.

"And it won't protect your face much more than one," added Marek. "Remember that, when you're out there playing the hero." Harry was about to protest but, preceded by a hiss, unexpected words left Dakhil's mouth first.

"An Acolyte of the Votary does not _play_ at anything!" Dakhil's stature was suddenly somewhat larger, and his aura somewhat redder. "You would be wise to remember your position, Marek. With one thought the boy could destroy you."

"Yes… yes, of course," Marek apologized. "I'm sorry… I… I truly am sorry."

There was fear in his words, far more fear than Harry thought the situation warranted. Part of him understood – something he remembered from the Joining. He touched the Ring of Onyx and thought for a moment, trying to refine the swirling memories that had been given him, but there wasn't time to well for its source; it was time for action. Harry stood and began to walk toward the large chamber.

"One moment, boy," said Dakhil with a matter of fact tone. Harry stopped, turned and, before he had an instant to react, Dakhil had cast a spell on him. Nothing happened.

"What… what was that?" Harry demanded, still reaching for his wand.

"He's changed the colour of your robes, Harry," said Marek. "They're no longer white; they're crimson."

"Primate Potter," said Dakhil in an exceptionally scratchy voice followed by a short blasting cough. "Your new title. Hopefully, I'll die tonight and not have to say it again." He sighed. "Asha protect us." Harry looked down, but could sense no discernable difference. "Don't worry, boy; those who have travelled the path through proper training will know at once the significance of your robes. We'd best hurry. There won't be time for much of a speech."

Harry and Dakhil left the tent and entered the cavern; the warriors within had emptied out onto the mountainside, staging for the battle to come. Soon, the gate would open and the soldiers would spill down upon their foes. Harry and Dakhil walked down the cave and, as it narrowed toward its exit, a young man came up and touched Harry by the sleeve.

"Asha be with you," he said tilting his head in a slight bow.

"And with you," replied Harry without forethought. _Why did I say that?_

The cavern door opened and, for a moment, Harry was blinded by the many auras gathered outside. He could see that some of the werewolves had already turned, and a group of wizards was having difficulty restraining them. No one seemed distracted by the howling, a howling that mixed with words in Harry's mind –_ kill, bite, blood!_ He turned to see if someone was talking to him, but no one was there. Another werewolf howled.

"Patience, my friends," called Harry to the snapping creatures and the wolves quieted at his words. _That was not my voice,_ thought Harry. _Or was it?_

Everyone was listening to Antreas who stood upon a large outcrop of rock above the growing din. His words were amplified, but Harry wasn't sure the increased intensity was necessary. He was calling out in a strong and commanding voice and Harry wondered why this role wasn't Dakhil's.

"….is all we need. Together we will be victorious! Together we will banish the darkness into the abyss!" The earth began to rumble with applause. Harry noticed four giants pounding their feet with approval.

"Giants?" he asked Dakhil. "I didn't notice any giants when I arrived."

"They climbed over from the sheer cliffs on the back side of the mountain. That way is not guarded save by Dementors, and they have no effect on such simple creatures. So it is with the werewolves."

"It'll m-make for a b-bloody Death Eater busting surprise."

"Fred?"

The redhead was clearly agitated, seemingly in the midst of the change.

"Fred, please… don't—"

"The Primate has ARRIVED!" cried Antreas with a leaping voice. He was referring to Dakhil, but Harry could feel hundreds of eyes turn toward him simultaneously. Save for the howling and the occasional spell being cast a short ways down the hill, all became silent.

"Let's give them what they want, boy," said Dakhil. "Up you go." He levitated Harry some twenty feet in the air. Harry's heart began to race as he rose, wondering what he might say.

It was like rising over the embers of a dying fire, each glowing aura a tiny coal burning against the darkness. There were hundreds gathered here. Some fell to their knees as Harry rose; most stood silently. Giants, Centaurs, wizards and werewolves, a ragtag collection of misfits all collected to fight together against the malevolence Lucius Malfoy had co-opted for his own evil purposes.

Lucius probably hoped he would retrieve the cloak and arrive at this place of battle to celebrate a great victory, the first of many. Little did he know that his former master would take up residence in his body – if only long enough to take over Harry's. But that would never, could never happen. How the worm had turned on the blonde-haired patriarch. Soon, it would turn on the darkness worming within him. Harry raised his arms to the heavens above, a giant comet was clearly visible in the night sky.

"Ebyrth marks its return and now we find ourselves at its mercy. While some have come to answer the new sun's call, others are here to protect our dragon brothers against the darkness that wishes to destroy all in its path. Tonight we fight as one. Tonight we fight with the strength of giants, the magic of wizards, the ferocity of werewolves, the wisdom of Centaurs, and the hearts of dragons!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth, than the thunderous SWOOP-SWOOP filled the air and four enormous dragons flew over the crowd, blotting out the stars and then coming to rest at the top of the great stone wall. Singehorn wasn't among them, but Harry, though having never met them, knew their names. The three males were Rakesh, Talisan, and Igneus, and the blue female was Tanwen. As if being called, Harry looked toward Talisan, the largest of the four, with green-black scales and fierce red eyes. He looked more like a Ukrainian Ironbelly than a Hungarian Horntail.

"Primate!" the creature cried out. "We follow you in battle. What are your orders?"

All around Harry, wizards were clasping their hands against the sides of their heads to cover their ears, some falling to their knees in pain, because of the creature's great roar. And yet, Harry could understand everything he said. _How is this possible?_ This was no meditation.

"Your orders, Primate?" cried the dragon again, and again those around Harry winced in pain.

"Burn them!" yelled Harry. "Burn them till your bellies turn cold. You, Tanwen, fly high above the wall. Let no enemy past the gates. Do not leave your post. We must save the rookery at all costs!" Harry pulled his red robes tight about his shoulders.

"Open the gates!" called Antreas and the army erupted in cheers and howls. A few werewolves snapped at their allies, but most caught the scent of their hated foes, enticing their senses with a bloodlust for Dementor, and quickly they began to charge ahead, down the mountainside. Dakhil brought Harry down to earth as the crowded hillside flowed out through the gate. Harry began to run, following the rushing tide, but someone grabbed his shoulder and pulled him around; it was Antreas.

"Your time is at hand, Harry," he said with a stout voice. "I'll lead the first wave; I dare not speak it to the others, but don't think for a minute we'll succeed. The scouts have told me the situation… it's dire. When we begin to fall back, and we will fall back… that's when we'll need you." Harry was about to argue, but Antreas was already swept away in the current of bodies rushing through the gate. Undaunted, Harry began to follow, only this time Dakhil stopped him.

"Tell me, boy," he murmured quietly beneath the roaring rush of wizards pushing by. "Why are you here?"

"To fight Voldemort," Harry spat, turning to leave. Dakhil held his arm fast; Harry spun back to face him, clenching his jaw.

"Really?" queried Dakhil, still quiet, still calm, still holding Harry's arm with a vice-like grip. "Are you… sure? Is that why you were summoned?" Harry tried to pull away, but couldn't. He pulled his wand. "You don't need a wand to dismiss me, boy. You're the Primate now, or will be soon. If you think you no longer need my services, then dismiss me! You need only speak the words; tell me to be gone!"

He was goading Harry, trying to make him angry, trying to evoke a response. Harry slipped his wand away.

"You are the Primate," he said softly. "Not me."

"Wizards will never follow a vampire into battle, boy," answered Dakhil. "But for some reason, Asha only knows why, they will follow you." He squeezed Harry's arm tighter. "Hear this, then do what you must. The wisdom of Grigor Darbinyan now flows in his son's veins. Would you ignore Antreas? Shall we charge with the rest? What are your orders?"

"I'm… I'm here to serve my oath, to protect the line of Asha… as are you. We stay to protect the rookery." Harry noted a glimmer in Dakhil's aura… _a smile_? The last of the first wave had passed through the gate, leaving two giants, one dragon, a half-dozen Centaurs and some thirty wizards to wait for further orders, orders that Harry would have to give. Knowing that the number at his side were too few to fend off the coming attack, his thoughts turned to the darkness, hiding at the bottom of the mountain, searching for some way that they might defeat him.

"He won't reveal himself," said Harry, slowly, "until he believes they've won, that he can step up and take me as his prize. Antreas is right, to capture Lucius and the darkness that consumes him, the first wave must fail."

"The enemy's numbers are too great," said Dakhil, releasing his grip. "Even with those still remaining, we have no hope of winning in direct battle."

"Then the second wave must be a surprise. We must hold until the last possible moment."

"Even then, boy, the numbers are against us."

"Maybe," answered Harry, "But we need only strike down one foe. What will our enemy do when their general dies? When Lucius and his master fall?"

"It is impossible to catch vapour with your bare hands. Who among us, might I ask, will bring down the Dark Lord?"

"I will," Harry answered. He left Dakhil and entered into the centre of those remaining. "Gather 'round!" he called. "Listen to what I say! Tonight… tonight we plan for victory!"


	19. The First Battle

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 19 ****– The First Battle **

**~~~***~~~**

Flame and smoke roiled in the air from the battle below, bearing the odour of burnt flesh and blood into the secure compound guarding the rookery of the dragons, where Harry and the others waited. The earth shook as the giants, fighting their common enemies below, cast stones the size of train-cars crashing down upon their foes. Howls, screeches, and the roar of dragon-fire reverberated between the stone walls, echoing down the canyons and pitching wildly between Harry's ears. He couldn't see the battle raging on the mountainside below, none of them could. But then, they didn't need to see what was happening to know that it was not going well. The burning odour was growing stronger, the shaking earth was more severe, and the howls and screeches filled the air more than ever. The battle was coming closer, higher up the mountain. Soon, it would be at the compound walls.

Harry grew more anxious by the moment. His first instinct had been to attack outright, but both Antreas and Dakhil had stopped him. Ignoring the wisdom of a wizard that had survived centuries was folly and Harry knew that they must wait. The second wave would attack when their enemies were most weary. If Harry's force could break their lines, if they could keep heel to throat, perhaps the advancing darkness would retreat down the mountain, down to where Lucius Malfoy, now possessed by Voldemort, most certainly waited.

When the first wave began its attack, Harry had quietly sent the best Centaur archers high onto the mountainside leading down from the North gate. Hiding high in the hills, they would flank the advancing darkness and strike when Harry gave the signal. Along the edges of the other side of the valley, Harry sent the two remaining giants, Florge and Scrum, to wait hidden among the rocks. There they would hold the higher ground, preventing any Death Eaters from running away from the onslaught of Centaur arrows. Once they were set into position, the giants looked like a large outcropping of stone, nothing more. With luck they would mow down dozens with their clubs, large tree trunks bristling with barbed metal pikes the length of Harry's arm.

Hearing, smelling, feeling the first wave retreat back toward the main gate, Harry impatiently waited to lead the second wave through a hidden gate that skirted the side of the valley wall. Then they would know if there was any hope at all. Already, Centaur runners brought back reports that the number of the enemy was twice what was first thought – over two-hundred Dementors, nearly a hundred vampires, dozens of wizards, and five giants of their own. Clearly, the numbers were against them and they all knew it.

About a small fire, Harry sat with Dakhil and two other members of the Votary, Mikael and Katana. Dakhil was roasting sausages skewered on the end of a Centaur spear. Mikael was a large man, Ukrainian he said, with dark brown hair and a perpetual three days' growth of beard. Half of his left ear was missing and he had a wildness about his piercing blue eyes that, as Dakhil described, would frighten any living soul that dared to cross wands with him. As for Katana, she was quiet, almost subdued. Even sightless, Harry could discern how her black skin contrasted against the silver mail ringlets that covered her upper torso. Set against her quiet manner was the red aura that burned fiercely from her soul, perhaps the most intense Harry had ever seen. Unlike Mikael, she rarely spoke, but when she did it almost always carried import. The fire crackled and the sausages popped, sending a steaming squirt of burning fat onto Mikael's arm. He yelped, but Dakhil only laughed.

"I wish that was the only sting you would receive tonight, Mikael," said the vampire, grimly staring into the fire, turning the sausages on the spear and watching the dripping grease send little flares of flame lapping upwards.

"How you are hungry, Dakhil," replied Mikael, shaking his head and moving close once again to warm himself by the fire. "They arrive at doorstep before you finish." Again, Dakhil laughed.

"You should know by now, my Ukrainian friend," said Dakhil with a smile, "I don't eat sausages. The boy here looked a bit faint and I thought he should build up his strength." He held the point of the spear before Harry's face, the sizzling sausage splattering specks of hot fat against the shield charm protecting Harry's exposed face. "One should never meet their maker on an empty stomach."

"Thank you," Harry said with a thin smile. He took the sausage between thumb and forefinger, but it neither seared nor burned. Without flinching, Harry slid the sausage off the spear's metal point and took a bite. Once again, he detected a momentary smile in the aura of Dakhil. To the vampire's left, Katana let out a small snigger. She stood, her ringlets jingling as she did so, and then she looked upward to the night sky where the smaller dragon Tanwen circled.

"Even as Ebyrth reveals itself to the world, Asha's blessing is upon you, young wizard," she said with a low voice that was calm and as deep as the lake outside Hogwarts. "This is good… for the time has come. Prepare."

Scantly had the words left her lips than a tremendous roar exploded overhead. Talisan, the largest of the four dragons, appeared from no where, plummeting from the sky, streaking fire and smoke behind him and smashing to the ground, tumbling into a group of wizards that most certainly would have died in the collision had not Katana turned their attention toward the wall when she stood. Immediately, pandemonium struck the camp. Even though many knew their posts, some wizards called out to attack directly through the main gate, some scattered for the secret side gate, some ran toward the mountain's tunnels. The Centaurs were calling for patience, and all were yelling at the top of their lungs.

"SILENCE!" cried Dakhil, his voice reverberating off the canyon walls. "Everyone, move in formation toward the North gate! There we wait until the sign comes."

"But—"

"We will attack when the sign comes; not before! NOW MOVE!"

While the confusion subsided, Harry moved toward the fallen dragon.

"Where are you going?" questioned Dakhil.

"Talisan needs help," answered Harry continuing to walk to the dragon.

"Your orders were to—"

"I know what the plan is, Dakhil! I made it!" Harry yelled.

"We don't have time for this, boy!"

"I have all the time I need," snapped Harry in retort. "Now go! Lead the others and I'll join you when I'm done."

"Marek can care for the—"

"GO!"

With his wand still sheathed, Harry concentrated his mind. Bending space was easier than slowing time, even Ronan, his Centaur trainer, had admitted that. But Harry needed time, even just a little more to save Talisan's life. Right now, he was compelled. He felt that healing the dragon was more important than all the rest of it. He wasn't sure why, but he had to do what he could. He centred on the words Ronan had taught him.

_In forest glen, the babbling brook is filled with silver fish._

_Slow its flow and deny each drip to put them on your dish._

The sounds about Harry became muffled. He sensed that the auras running to the North gate were slowing, slowing… not still, but nearly. Harry summoned the Stone of Cinnabar from within him. Still bloody, he cast a fire spell upon it.

"Bravery, Wisdom, Love," he whispered and was instantly transported to the white room that waited for his command. "Talisan," he whispered, and was immediately drawn to the dragon.

He'd healed a cat before, but never a dragon. At first he could see the enormous creature prone on the ground, the three wizards surrounding it frozen in time, but the dragon looked up toward Harry, blinking as if it could see him. Talisan's breathing was erratic and he coughed blood and smoke. Then, as always, the scene paused, as if asking Harry to confirm that this indeed was the action he wished to take. "Heal my friend," Harry whispered again. Colour began to swirl about… broken bones… stunned nerves… sliced organs…a pierced lung… blood dripping on the fires of life… "Yes, heal them… heal them all."

The scene flashed black and Harry found himself broken from his trance, sprawled on his hands and knees, the jagged rocks tearing at his flesh, the stone of Cinnabar in his left hand. Before moving he pulled his wand and hid the stone once more inside his body, in the little pocket left by missing liver tissue. And once again, he thought of Greg Goyle and said a small prayer. Before he looked up he heard the dragon speak. His words were unsteady, but Harry could see that his injuries were healing.

"We must hurry," Talisan said, "the… the second wave… I must—"

"You must stay here," cut in Harry. "You must rest."

"I can't. It is my duty to—"

"_It's your duty to listen to the __bearer of the ring."_ It was another voice, the dragon Tanwen; Harry knew that, but she was nowhere near. She was still flying high above the rookery. Harry wondered how he could be having this conversation, how…

"The ring," he whispered, touching the stone with his other hand. He took to his feet, rubbing the black stone between his fingers. He expected to feel somewhat dizzy after healing the dragon, but he wasn't. Without turning, he noticed that the auras were beginning to funnel out through the North gate just as the injured were coming in from the main gate. They would need help too. He moved to see what he could do when Marek stopped him.

"Let me take care of the injured, Harry. If you don't execute like we had planned, we have no hope of winning and all will be lost, not just a few lives, but hundreds." Once more, Harry glanced to the injured streaming in. There was a strong urge to heal them all. Many were near death. For a moment he hesitated and then he grudgingly nodded his head.

"Right," said Marek. "Get going."

Harry ran to the side gate, reaching it in seconds. He could hear Marek calling for help from the other Healers to get the injured inside the caves. When Harry passed through the gate, it sealed behind him leaving no trace that an opening was ever there.

The group of wizards and Centaurs making up the second wave had not moved far past the gate. They were carefully, quietly, edging their way around the flank of their enemy. As Harry moved about one of the larger rock formations, he had his first chance to detect the advancing army. It looked formidable, but not a three to one advantage. For a moment he had forgotten the Dementors, creatures whose auras he could not see, but the moment did not last long. The wind shifted and the cool stench of their flesh filled the air. For an instant… from the canyon just below… _Was he imagining it?_ Harry thought he could actually hear them talking to each other. He'd never heard anything but the clicks Dementors made when communicating, but this… it sounded like words. Whatever it was he was hearing, they were close. He resisted the temptation to wretch just as two of his own wizards fell to their knees in fear.

There was the faint chirp of some insect, the sign, and the air immediately rang with the whistling of arrows. The Centaurs high in position among the cliffs let go their first volley. Screeches of Dementor and vampire alike bubbled up out of the canyon like a thick ooze of pain. An instant later, another volley of arrows filled the air, followed by more screams; then another… and another. Moving his way to the front of the contingent making up the attacking second wave, Harry could hear wizards cry out from below for their lines to turn toward the side of the mountain.

"Shields!" someone called. The next volley struck many still off guard, but was less successful among the wary wizards. Harry continued to advance until he came to Dakhil's shoulder.

"Miss me?" Harry whispered. Dakhil seemed distracted.

"They're unsettled," he said quietly. "If we're going to do this, boy, we must do it now to tilt any chance of surprise. They await your command." A burst of exasperated disgust left Dakhil's lips, but Harry didn't hesitate.

"Strike now!" he commanded. "ATTACK!"

Arrows from the Centaurs stationed on the rocks above continued to rain down upon the rear of the line of Death Eaters, vampires and Dementors that had now driven Antreas' first wave back through the main gate of the compound wall. Even as the front of Malfoy's dark force was cheering for victory, calling for their giants to sunder the great wall protecting the compound, others at the rear were screaming with fear. The wizards and Centaurs in Harry's second wave cascaded down the mountainside firing arrows and filling the smoky air with an electrifying display of wand power. Spell after spell stunned, exploded and slashed their adversaries. Fear was palpable and its effect began to ripple its way toward the front. Harry could sense their auras fading against the onslaught. The Dementors could feel it too and they began to consume souls indiscriminately. It was Katana who described to Harry how, in some sort of frenzied state they began feeding on the fear of their own warriors. As the frightened minions tried to scramble up the opposite hillside they came face to face with the hidden giants.

Florge and Scrum rose as if ascending from the stone itself. With great strokes of their clubs they swatted their foes back into the advancing force, back into the frenzied Dementors, back into a boiling broth of disorder that had now made its way to the front of the lines.

What at first seemed like a rout of Harry's side was being flipped upon its head. Centaur arrows were dropping non-wizard vampires from the sky with nearly every draw of the string. Emboldened by the success of the second wave, the healthy in Antreas' original attacking force regrouped and began another charge. Werewolves that had scattered to the mountainside retreating from their first attack also sensed the change and returned to the fray.

Squeezed on both sides and pressed to the fore, Lucius Malfoy's army retreated back down the mountain. With all the confusion, Harry and many of the others in his second wave found themselves in the middle of Malfoy's retreating force. They had essentially split their enemy's force into two, allowing one half to retreat freely down the mountain while trapping the other in a great pincher. Harry and his forces had the lower ground while Antreas and the others pressed in from above. What followed was utter destruction.

Rakesh appeared from on high and began to dive toward the dazed and disordered warriors.

"Back!" cried Harry to the others. He heard similar cries from Antreas and his men further up the mountain. The werewolves did not head the warning. "BACK!" Harry yelled again. The Death Eaters were too distracted trying to handle the attacking werewolves and their own crazed Dementors to notice the dragon moving in.

When Harry's men moved away, the vision of auras cleared and he distinctly noticed three werewolves still tearing at the flesh of their enemies. One of them was Fred Weasley; Harry could sense his anger, his hatred, his thirst to destroy.

"FRED!" Harry screamed. "GET OUT OF THERE!" But Fred was a werewolf and nothing Harry could do would stop that. Then Igneus appeared on the flank of Rakesh; both were diving down on their encircled enemies. Soon it would all be over. Harry began to run, not away but toward his friend and the mayhem of the battle before him. Even as stunners ricocheted off in every direction and Killing Curses took down one creature after another, Harry ran. He leapt onto the red fur of Fred's back, knocking him to the ground.

The werewolf spun, opened his great jaws and grabbed Harry by the throat. Only the light shield charm about Harry's face was keeping him from being bitten through, but it wouldn't last long if Fred truly desired blood. On his back, his senses facing forward, he could detect the two giant auras of the dragons racing toward them. They had only seconds. Harry held his hands about Fred's neck, and pressed the black onyx ring against his friend's flesh.

"Be still," he ordered. "Be still, my friend."

The grip about Harry's neck loosened slightly and, in that moment, Harry spun them both to the ground and cast a shield charm. The world erupted in fire. Screams filled the air only to be silenced an instant later by another blast of heat and flame. The werewolf in Harry's arms struggled to break free, but not wholly.

"Get off of me, you bloody idiot," Harry heard him howl. "I swear I'll gut you!"

"_The ring,"_ Harry thought. _"I hear him through the ring."_

"Fred, listen…" said Harry sharply. "Hold still, just one more moment. The heat… the heat will—" The werewolf broke free of Harry's grasp and threw himself against the shield charm surrounding them. It held from within. Again he charged the shield and this time broke through. He yipped as his paws burned against the scorching earth, but in a flash he was gone, chasing after the part of the army that had fled down the mountainside.

With the shield charm gone, Harry could smell the burning stench about him. Where seconds before stood dozens of men and creatures, now only three lone wizards remained – Death Eaters that had seen the dragons in time and had shield charms of their own. One, seeing Harry stand in the glowing embers without his shield, released his own protective spell and began to run. He took two steps before his feet were in flames. He fell and began to sizzle against the scorched earth. One of the other Death Eaters killed him to release him from the misery. Harry walked toward the remaining two, the heat burning away the dirt that soiled his robes, but leaving the scarlet cloth and his skin unscathed. Somehow being here on the mountain, so close to the dragons, had steeled his ability to withstand the heat.

"It's not possible," said one, the dark haired wizard in black robes that had killed his ally.

"Fool," spat the other, blonde with robes of dark blue. "He's one of _them_ – half-man, half-dragon."

"He's a boy," said the other.

"If this _boy_," said Harry, moving closer, "drops your shield charm right now, you'll cook to death like your friend there." The dark haired Death Eater raised his wand.

"He's blind!"

"Stop it!" said the other. "Are you mad?! There are scores in the hills around us. We haven't a chance." Harry continued to advance.

"The man you serve," Harry began, now close enough to tap the shield of the dark haired wizard with the tip of his wand, "Lucius Malfoy… where is he?"

"He'll… he'll be here soon enough. You'll see. Then… then you'll—"

"What colour is his hair?" The tip of Harry's wand began to glow red, sending out a pinprick of light onto the light blue shield that surrounded the Death Eater.

"B-Blonde," the Death Eater stammered, staring intently at the red glow.

"And his eyes? What colour are his eyes?"

"They're… they're red, damn it! He's found a source of true power, and he'll swat the likes of you from the face of the earth. Now get us out of this fire pit!"

"Dakhil!" Harry cried out. "Dakhil!" There was a swooping sound and the wizard flew down next to Harry on the scorched earth. He was in vampire form, the front of his robes stained red with blood that was even now vanishing, burning away from the intense heat.

"Voldemort's alive and he's still in Malfoy," said Harry with a sense of urgency in his voice that was building with anger. "This battle… it's not over. They'll regroup, realize that they still outnumber us, and attack again. We have to press our advantage while we can." Dakhil's lips pulled back into a horrific smile that revealed rows of long, sharp teeth. It was enough to make the Death Eater next to them shudder.

"_Very good, boy,"_ he hissed with a deep scratchy voice. The words were not human, but still Harry understood. _"I will inform Antreas to pass this dead zone, when he is able, and move down. You will need to tell Rakesh and Igneus."_

"What about Talisan?"

"_He __is well; do you not sense it?" _ And indeed Harry could and, for a moment, his heart lightened. Dakhil moved to fly when Harry grabbed his arm.

"And the others? How are our numbers?"

"_We will most certainly be destroyed this night," _cracked Dakhil. _"Your comet, Ebyrth, will destroy us all."_ Dakhil took to the sky and faded into the darkness toward the higher parts of the mountain. As the embers cooled, Harry could sense the others from the second wave moving toward him. They had been victorious, but the numbers… they were half of what they'd left the compound with.

The Centaurs stopped outside the ring of intense heat, but Katana walked though it toward Harry.

"What are your orders, Primate?" she asked. There was a nasty gash on the side of her arm and the side of her face looked like it had some hex. Harry moved toward her and bathed her face in blue light; the boils receded.

"When the area cools, Antreas will move down to join us, but we cannot wait. We must continue the attack. We are searching for their leader, a blonde wizard with red eyes, wearing a dark cloak."

"The Phantom. A Dark Lord, I have heard him called." Her voice was calm, almost calculating.

"He's no lord, Katana," said Harry coolly, "but he will kill anything in his path. Warn the others. We head to the wasp's nest and the stingers there will kill."

"And these two?" she asked, nodding to the Death Eaters still desperately trying to maintain their shield charms.

"Leave them to Antreas," Harry said. "We can't spare the men." Katana raised an eyebrow and cleared her throat. Harry noticed the subtle change in her aura. "Or women," Harry corrected with a smile. "Or women."

Before long, Harry's beleaguered forces were well more than half-way down the mountainside. Soon they would be outside the perimeter that marked the magical border of the dragons' lands. During the entire journey, they had encountered no resistance. All they had found was the occasional fallen wizard or the black cloak of a Dementor; none alive. Katana and Mikael warned that they should not pass the perimeter, that the dragons would not follow beyond, but Harry already knew that. Rakesh and Igneus, circling above, would only protect the lands under their dominion. They would not attack outside it.

"Do you think Voldemort doesn't know that?" he asked, as they continued to march down the mountain. "If we don't crush him now, he'll use the time to rebuild his forces and attack again, more terrible than ever."

"You don't know that."

"I know that—" Suddenly, a Centaur scout, Shamire, appeared, sweat dripping from his flanks. Harry turned to him. "What news?" he asked.

"You were right, Chosen," the Centaur answered. "They have a camp just on the other side of the border. There are wounded everywhere, and lots of yelling. They are in a clearing surrounded by large trees, but the trees… they are not real."

"What?"

"I have never seen anything like it before. The trees look like trees, but they are not; they are dead, a fabrication. The werewolves are circling, but unwilling to enter."

"A barrier?" asked Katana. "To protect the camp."

"Maybe," said Harry, "or something worse. It's always something worse. Shamire, tell the others to be on their guard. The dragons won't fly past the border. It will be up to us to finish the job." As he said these words Harry looked toward the sky and saw the majestic creatures circle back, returning to the compound. "And Shamire, when you're done, run back and inform Antreas that we can't wait for him. We have to attack before they've regained their strength. There's still fear in the air, we have to press the advantage." Shamire nodded and vanished.

Harry and the others arrived outside the clearing. The Centaur had been right; the large tree structures encircling the clearing were dead. To Harry they appeared like massive spires of darkness that shot into the air. Each one was four to five feet across. Harry touched one; it _felt_ like the trunk of a tree, but it was cold, lifeless. Mikael motioned for the others to spread out and encircle the camp. They were outnumbered four to one, but nearly all of their adversaries were lame, in litters or small cots that spread across the open field by the dozens. At one end was a large, black nothingness that rose from the grass to the sky above. _Dementors_, thought Harry. _Could he hear the sound of voices, arguing?_ Before them was a wizard with an aura more intense than all the others. Harry knew at once who it was.

"Voldemort," he whispered.

A few minutes later, Mikael gave the signal. Harry and many of the others surrounding the camp cast spells to push the massive trees aside. Harry was worried that they might act as an alarm and give away the moment of surprise, but the trees moved. A dozen openings appeared all about the great circle.

The werewolves were the first to leap through. From all directions wizards and Centaurs poured into the field. Arrows, spells and counter-spells streaked across the air. Harry's mind was focused on one thing – the wizard at the far end of the camp surrounded by darkness. Moving closer, he could hear the screams in his mind, but he had learned to control the fears brought on by the Dementors, to control all emotion if need be. Still, as he approached Lucius Malfoy the more angry he became. The blonde wizard's back was toward Harry; he was seemingly oblivious to the onslaught and still speaking with the darkness of Dementors. _Were they laughing?_ Harry didn't care if his foe's back was turned; he would kill this time, avenge so many of the deaths he should have stopped long ago. He was so focused on killing he barely heard Katana cry out.

"They're Muggles!" Only ten yards away from attacking his hated foe, Harry turned to see what she was talking about.

"These aren't wizards!" she yelled at the people laying in the litters and cots that filled the field. "They're Muggles; they've been immobilized."

Harry heard a high cold laugh from behind just as each tree surrounding the field split open with a great white light.

"IT'S A TRAP!" Harry cried, but too late. Wizard vampires and Death Eaters spilled out from the fissures in the trees that had been hiding them. Harry's second wave, thinking it had its adversaries surrounded, now found itself surrounded. The werewolves had already started to attack defenceless Muggles, getting them to turn their attention was proving near impossible.

"Now," hissed Lucius Malfoy. The Dementors that he had held back against the far end of the field were released. Nearly a hundred poured out and over Harry, knocking him over but leaving him alone as they attacked the others. He could have sworn he heard one of them say, _"You're lucky, wizard." _ He knew that there were far too few Centaurs to bring them all down.

Harry turned over on his belly and watched as the lights of souls smashed into one another. They were still outnumbered, only now Harry's men were at the disadvantage and he hadn't the advice of Antreas or the wisdom of Dakhil to know what to do. Or did he?

Rubbing the band of onyx with his thumb, Harry held out his hand toward a familiar group of werewolves that were unsure who to attack.

"Hear me!" Harry called out. One of the werewolves turned immediately. It was Remus.

"Harry?" he yelped.

"The Death Eaters by the trees!" yelled Harry. Remus and the group of werewolves turned toward the trees and ran. All that is but one. Fred remained, with eyes of fire, looking past Harry to the dark wizard behind him. He charged.

"Fred, no!" yelled Harry. "He'll kill y—" A red stunner came from the side, slamming the werewolf to the ground. "Fred!"

All around Harry's group was falling like stunned pixies, some by red light, some by green. Dementors were swirling about as if waiting for the order to suck the souls out of the survivors. Spoils, Harry suspected. Harry looked toward the mountaintop. Where were Antreas' forces?

"I should have waited," he whispered into the sod.

"It would not have mattered," said Malfoy in a mixed high, cold drawl. Harry spun to cast a spell, but his wand was expelled before he could turn around. The next thing he knew he was immobilized, stiff as a board, but well aware of what was happening. He spit. His mouth was working, but try as he might he could not turn his head. He heard Katana screaming in pain somewhere behind him.

"Isn't it delicious, Potter," Malfoy asked, stepping close. Harry could smell the stench of the wizard approaching. He could not see the red eyes burning in their sockets, but he could sense the auras fighting within. Evidently, Malfoy was a bit more difficult to control than young James Chang. He wasn't going down willingly. Then, Voldemort's aura flashed bright.

"Since I was a little boy, I've always loved that sound, the way it penetrates the ear and rings the soul."

"You have no soul, Tom," snapped Harry. "You're a shell, a third of what you once were."

"And yet here I am, and there you are, trussed up like a Christmas turkey. A seventh of my power would be enough to destroy you!" Flecks of spit splattered against Harry's face – he felt them. The shield charm protecting his eyes had been broken. Lucius touched Harry's face.

"A few scars… not too bad," Malfoy observed as if judging a pig for market. "And the eyes… well, one can always find eyes from a willing donor." He laughed. Harry could hear the battle raging behind him, but here between the two, time seemed to stand still. Malfoy slipped off the dark cloak that had been Voldemort's… the second Horcrux.

"I couldn't possess you before, Potter; some silliness about love. But this…" He stroked the black cloth of the cloak. "This will change all that. You might say it's everything inside me that was ever good. Who needs such things, eh? Ah, yes… you do, don't you?" He shook the cloak like a big blanket and wrapped it about Harry's shoulders. "There. Its purity always protected me against wayward spells."

"Like a shell surrounding a rotten nut?" asked Harry dryly. "Why put it on me?"

"Because… with it I can penetrate you, withstand the goodness that binds you. With it I can take control of what I once gave you. Since the night I killed your parents my spirit, my power has flowed within the very fabric of your being – a fourth Horcrux, you might say. I will use it to take utter control and when I do I will be whole once more. It does become so tiresome always having to fight the host. But you, Potter, you are already me."

"You're mistaken, Tom."

"I think not." Lucius sighed. His head turned past Harry. "Your forces are crushed. Once I take your body, I will return to the lair of Singehorn and destroy the only force that can stand in my way. With the dragons destroyed, Europe will be mine."

"No… don't. I- I-"

"Don't beg, Potter. It's not how you'll want your last moments on earth to be remembered. Now," he sighed again, "this won't hurt a bit."

There was a small flicker of intensity in Malfoy's aura. Harry watched as the green evil began to issue out through his mouth and nose like a tapeworm being pulled from a bowel. For a moment, the green glow hung in the air as Malfoy fell to the ground.

"Don't do it, Tom."

The green encircled Harry and penetrated. Pain. The coils of Voldemort's essence wrapping itself around Harry's. Squeezing. Probing. Penetrating. Searching. Harry's skull felt as if it might explode.

_Where is it, Potter? How are you hiding it?_

The coils wrapped tighter, the pain became more intense.

_You__ have the stone… and the ring! But where is it, that which I truly require?_

"Come closer, Tom… closer." Harry drew in his invader, pulling him nearer to his inner self. "Feel true pain."

Suddenly, Voldemort found that he wasn't in control. The coils of his essence wrapped ever more tightly about Harry's, but it wasn't at his bidding. Harry's inward self fought his enemy, while his outward self saw the arrival of Antreas' army and the retreat of Lucius Malfoy and his followers down the mountainside. It wasn't much longer before Voldemort realized that the darkness with which he had marked Harry as a child was no longer there. It, and the scar that marked the curse, had been cleansed away at the falls.

_Where is it? __WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? _

"Purity of light. Love harbours no enemies. Champion these precepts, Tom and be cleansed!" Somehow, Harry was drawing power from the goodness of the robe surrounding him. Scenes of laughter, warm laughter from a small boy flashed across his mind. The purity, the goodness was too much for Voldemort to bear.

_This is not possible!_

"But it is, Tom. I've been cleansed. Your power over me, our oneness is no longer."

The scene in Harry's mind showed a small baby being born. The mother, near death, held the child in her shaking arms, smiled warmly and kissed his forehead. Seeing this expression of love, Harry's thoughts betrayed him.

_A boy? You have a boy?_

Try as Harry might to stop them, the coils around his essence released. He could feel Voldemort vanish from his body.

"No!" Harry yelled as he fell limp to the ground. Before the darkness came, he watched as the green cloud of mist disappeared into the forest in search of yet another body to possess – Harry's son.


	20. Aftermath

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****20 - Aftermath**

She was laughing at him – a joyous, playful laugh that was one part teasing, one part humour, and all of it provocative. It was the kind of laugh that makes a young man smile back even when he doesn't want to, the kind of laugh that makes the tips of the ears turn red, the cheeks flush, and that little spot, somewhere near the stomach, twist into a tiny knot wondering if maybe… maybe tonight…. It was the kind of laugh that made Harry remember why he had loved her, why he had—

He was laughing at him, jumping all about in the tall green grass beneath a clear blue sky and a brilliant yellow sun. It was the kind of laugh that made one want to laugh along, to dance and play. The kind of laugh that said, "I love you Dad!" and brought Harry to his knees for a hug and a kiss.

They were, all of them, barefoot, running and playing in the summer's heat, splashing through the cool stream that wound its way about the top of the meadow. _Faster! Faster!_ They ran, giggling, to where the hill turned sharply down, stopped and looked over the edge – a smooth grassy incline that plunged perhaps twenty metres before it flattened out into another meadow prickled with golden flowers.

Jamie dropped to the ground stretched his legs straight and pulled his hands in close to his chest. _Roll with me, daddy! I'll race you down!_ Harry grinned and fell to the grass. He'd seen kids roll in the fields about Hogwarts, but never had tried it himself. As a child in Little Whinging he never had the chance to do anything outdoors, especially if it might have been enjoyable. He pulled in his arms and began to roll.

The tall grass was soft and whisked at his face with each twirl, round and round, down the hill. He could hear Jamie laughing, louder and more boisterous than ever before. With a flash and a spin, Harry glanced at his son, seeing joy and happiness, a smile that would melt the coolest of hearts, and red eyes.

Harry spun once round and looked again. The boy's laughter grew more shrill, high and cold, but the face looked flattened, snakelike. He tried to reach out, to stop himself from spinning, but his arms wouldn't move. They were pinned to his chest as tightly as his legs were held straight. _Faster, Daddy, Faster!_

It was as if a giant snake had wrapped itself about Harry's entire body; its enormous coils constricting as he continued to roll, spinning uncontrollably down a hill that had no end. The grass was whipping at his face, tearing at his eyes. He tried, but he could no longer see his son. But the high, cold voice remained. _Are you dizzy, Daddy?_ The sky had grown dark and cold and the world shuddered as the earth beneath Harry gave way, and he began to plummet downward into the abyss.

He woke, each corner of the room spinning about in a different direction. His arms flung out as he grabbed hold of the linens covering his bed, clutching them for dear life, trying to steady himself and regain a sense that he was no longer falling, no longer trapped in the nightmare – the first he'd had of Voldemort since last year. Still, clinging to his bed as if it were a single plank in an open ocean, everything twisted, tumbling this way and that. He… he couldn't help it. His stomach turning in knots, he retched out onto his bed, onto the wall, onto the floor.

"Merlin, Harry!"

His body began to shake, and the nausea swelled up once more exploding out of him. He wanted to stand, to hold on to something more tangible than a flimsy bed pad, but he couldn't; he was so weak he could barely lift his arms enough to turn his head to one side. It was worse than his hangover after Duncan's last party in Little Whinging.

"The potion, by the bed, see if you can get him to take a swallow."

A hand reached out… a blue vile. Harry recoiled.

"Come on, mate, just one swallow. Marek knows what he's talking about."

"F-Fred?" Harry asked weakly. The redheaded wizard standing in front of him pulled his wand and cleaned the bed and the floor with a flick of his wrist.

"Damn, Harry, when will you learn that I am _so_ much better looking than my furry brother? Besides… he drools."

"George?"

"Spot on, now take a swig."

Harry turned his head and let George pour the blue liquid into his mouth. He swallowed, and almost immediately the nausea passed. Remnants of the weakness wracking his body still remained.

"Better?"

Harry looked up at George and found a big, toothy grin. He looked over to the corner of the room and found Marek, standing near a small wooden desk, smiling. Beside him, hanging from the wall was a black cloak – Voldemort's cloak.

"Bad dream?" Marek asked.

"Something like that. I thought—

He could _see_ Marek smiling at him. He could _see_ George's red hair. Blinking, Harry reached up toward his eyes.

"Oh, no," said Marek, gently holding Harry's arm. "Best not to touch for a few days. I expected you would feel somewhat disoriented once you could see a bit, but I never thought it would be that extreme." Harry was silent, looking about the room – the sheets were white, stained with splotches of dried blood, and there was the wooden table in the far corner. He'd sensed that before, before the battle, but never noticed the carving on its front face – a dragon gilded in gold.

"Well, go on. What do you see? Blurs? Images? Flashes of dark and light?"

"I… I see everything. You… you _are_ George. I thought maybe Fred… Fred! Is he okay? Is he—?"

"He's getting his things together right now," interrupted George. "We need to get him home. I think you know why." Harry simply nodded. "The boys about here say you had a pretty hefty hand in seeing my brother to safety, the pigheaded brute." The flap on the door flew open and in walked George's twin.

"Pigheaded?" he squealed. "I'm not pigheaded! I eat pig-heads for snacks. Now _you_, dear brother… yes, just looking at your face make's me salivate." Fred started to make lapping sounds as stepped closer to George. Harry wanted to smile, but he couldn't. His eyes were scratchy and his vision began to blur – not because of any relapse, but because of the tears beginning to well within them. He did indeed know why George had come to fetch his brother.

"So, where's Charlie?" Fred asked. "I thought he was going to bring the portkey and check in on the dragons."

"Probably met some German witch in a pub on his way over here," answered George.

"I think his tastes lean more… French, don't you?"

"Oooh, la, la."

There was a brief silence, and then Harry swallowed hard and asked, "How'd I get here?"

"You don't remember?" asked Marek. Harry shook his head. "Well, the way Antreas described it, after he and his forces arrived at the clearing, the enemy began to run. It was as if someone simply popped a balloon. Whatever bluster the enemy had, whatever drove them to attack, disappeared.

"You began to heal the injured, Muggle and Wizard alike. Igneus saw that the battle was over and landed on the field, breathed fire into that stone of yours and you began to heal like a madman. There were thirty near death, including Fred there, and you saved nearly every one."

"Nearly?"

"I'm sorry Harry, but Mikael didn't make it. They had to pull you off when it was clear you were using up your own life force. You'd have both been dead." An image of Mikael's face flashed across Harry's mind and along with it a memory of frustration. He had to use his own life energy, not that of the stone. _The stone's power may not be used for members of the Votary. It is forbidden._ Harry could remember reaching further and further to find Mikael's life force, but it had passed into the next plane.He'd paused between those two planes, wondering if perhaps he could move beyond and still bring him back. _You can't bring back the dead. _It was the last thing he remembered, before the nightmare.

"How long have I been out?"

"About eight hours," answered Fred. "We just had lunch."

"Is that how all the Weasleys tell time? By what meal it is?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said George. This was followed by an awkward silence. There was now one less Weasley and, at least in Harry's mind, it was all Harry's fault. He wanted to tell them how it happened, but he couldn't find the words. Marek broke the stillness.

"Word of the battle got out as soon as the cloud of Dementors lifted," he said. "The Minister in Britain asked immediately for news of the situation and the status of his son. We told him the battle had been won, but his son was in no condition to climb down the mountain to where he could Apparate."

"A bit of a doctor's over protection I'd say," chimed in Fred.

"So George and Charlie were to come with a portkey and retrieve their brother."

"And in all honesty," added George, seemingly concerned, "he shouldn't have been _that_ far behind me. He said he was going to take care of a few things with dad."

"Well he's not much of a climber," said Fred. "Now if there was a damsel in distress here at the compound, maybe then—" Again, the front flap of the tent flew open; it was Charlie.

"Geesh," he said with a winded gasp. "There you are." His face was flush and sweat was dripping from his brow. "I didn't see you the whole way up. I was only a few minutes behind. Why didn't you wait?" he asked George, and then his eyes narrowed. "You don't seem too winded for having just climbed an hour." George bore a mock look of surprise, which instantly drew a scowl on Charlie's face; he knew a rat when he saw his brother. "There's no WAY you Apparated here; it can't be done."

"OH! That's right," George said. "We were going to hike together from the lower perimeter. I… I guess I forgot." George stood, reaching to the corner behind him and grabbing his broom. "I thought it might be easier if I just flew up." Charlie looked like he was ready to explode.

"Why you little—"

"Now, I'll have none of that in here," interrupted Marek. Charlie stopped and pulled his wand back, giving Marek a courteous, quick nod of the head.

"Right, sir." Regaining his composure, the older Weasley wiped his forehead, but still gave George a look of pure fire. Then his eyes fell on Harry who immediately looked away.

"Hi, Harry," said the elder Weasley. "Good to see you're well." Harry said nothing in return. He was afraid that if he spoke it would all dribble out in a blubbering mess.

"Gents," said Charlie, "do you mind if I have a word with Harry alone?"

Marek and, after some cajoling, Fred and George finally departed, leaving Charlie and Harry alone.

"So… I see your eyes are better," Charlie began. Harry blinked, still not able to hold George's gaze.

"Yeah," Harry answered quietly with a thin sigh, "a bit better." Charlie pulled up a chair next to Harry's bed.

"Once I get Fred back, there's going to be services for Mum – with full Ministerial pageantry. Dad never wanted to be Minister; I think maybe because he knew that the day would come when… Well, we can't always have peace, can we?" George wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took a deep breath. "There's… there's a part of Dad that doesn't want you within ten kilometres of him…" Harry nodded that he understood, "…and a part of him that wants to hold you closer than the rest of us." Harry looked up and George took his hand; both their eyes were wet. "Harry, you're a member of the family. You were as much a son to Mum as I was and we want you at the service."

"We?" asked Harry pointedly, but Charlie dodged the question.

"Look, if Marek says you're well enough, will you come with us? The portkey can take us all." Harry shook his head.

"I… I don't think that—"

"Damn it, Harry! Don't be as stubborn as… just say yes. We'll figure out the rest later."

Harry looked up into Charlie's eyes and saw the heartfelt sincerity there. Since his accident on the pitch, he'd missed that ability, the ability to look into the windows of a wizard's soul and know if the words and the emotions matched. Reading auras he could discern, to some extent, truth from lie, but the subtle shades of desire, the intricate patterns of joy and sorrow, those were hidden in the eyes. He could see them all playing about Charlie's face and knew that he should join them.

He was about to say he'd go when he remembered the battle, the green smoke, his son.

"Cho," he whispered suddenly, almost in a panic. "I- I've got to see Cho."

"That's where we're going first," said Charlie. Harry was confused; why would they be going to France? Charlie continued.

"I just saw her this morning with Anthony Goldstein at St. Mungo's."

"Anthony? Is he—?"

"He's fine. He's in the same room with Ron. Ron should be released today and from there we can Apparate to the Borough. Anthony should get out in a few days, hopefully before Christmas." Charlie continued to sit as Harry sat up with some urgency and put his legs over the edge of the bed. Charlie smiled. "Cho was holding a baby boy. I guess the two of them… well, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Harry standing up and slowly walking over to his clothes that were folded on the table.

"Then we're on?" asked Charlie.

"We're on."

Harry dressed and then folded the black cloak over his arm, as the two went out into the large cavern. Harry had expected to see it filled with injured, but there were only a handful of wizards and the few of them were simply standing about talking. Katana was speaking with Antreas and other members of the Votary. Visually, she was more striking than ever. Dakhil, however, was no where to be found. When she saw Harry, she walked over to greet him. She put her arms around him and pulled him close with a hug that nearly broke Harry's back.

"Well done," she said simply. "I now understand." Just as she let go, Antreas who was only a few paces behind her embraced Harry about the shoulders, thankfully less forcefully.

"How is Singehorn?" Harry asked. "And Talisan?"

"Fine," Antreas said with a smile. "They are both fine. Singehorn is finally well enough and began his journey to the East this morning. Creatures around the world, not just Dementors and Centaurs, are using the return of Ebyrth to ignite old hatreds. The war it seems is spreading, and the old ties must be rekindled among the dragon families."

"And Dakhil?"

"Resting. For the first time in days the sun is shining brightly. We are, all of us, somewhat tired."

"Just one more thing left to do," said Harry. "I need this stored in the rookery, against the west wall where it will be safe."

"The rookery?" Antreas asked as Harry handed him the cloak.

"Conceal it near the corner to look like the large black granite stone."

"I know the one, but—"

"It's important that it stay safe, that it stay hidden. And Antreas… don't tell Dakhil." Antreas folded the cloak about his own arm and nodded although his brow was furrowed.

"Very well," he said. He glanced at Charlie and then back to Harry. "You're leaving us then?" he asked and Harry nodded.

"Yes, Antreas, as you say there are _other_ battles to be won." A grin split across Antreas' face.

"Perhaps you face one with my sister for risking your neck again."

"And yours," added Harry with his own smile.

"It is good to see the gleam in your eyes once more." Antreas stepped closer and put his arm about Harry. "I have to say that your healing work was miraculous at the base of the mountain, choosing to heal all rather than just your own soldiers. Mother was right to bestow upon you the stone. Your passion for life… well, it was something my father was once known for; he would have been proud. And if one day the stars so choose, I can think of no other that I would rather call _brother_." He smiled as Harry's face reddened.

"Well," said Charlie, "the family's growing bigger by the minute." He called for Fred and George to come over as he pulled out a bag that held the portkey, an old leather football that had deflated. Before they all took hold Harry looked back at Antreas.

"Whatever the future, Antreas, we will always be brothers."

With a tug and a flash they were whizzing their way to St. Mungo's. The way things were spinning, Harry almost wished he hadn't had his eyesight back, but before he could regret it too much it was over. They landed with a thud on a dark marble floor veined with flecks of gold; Harry had come to despise that stone. Harry fell to one knee while the others remained on their feet.

"Thank Merlin! I was beginning to worry. Is he… Harry!"

Harry looked up to find Hermione looking back at him.

"Your eyes!" she exclaimed. "You can… can you?" Harry nodded as he stood up. Hermione wrapped her arms about him in a great hug, a sad chuckle whispered across his ear. "The darkness and the light. Oh, Harry, it's been madness."

"What do you mean?"

"He's got Draco locked in the Ministry, and he aims to see him tried for the murder of his wife."

"That's ridiculous! You were there. Didn't you tell him? Didn't Ron—"

"Yes! But he won't believe us. He thinks we were too stunned to remember properly. Maybe with time we could change his mind, but Draco's confessed."

"Confessed? Confessed to what?"

"To killing Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said miserably. The three Weasley brothers came over to console Hermione.

"It's alright, Hermione," said George, "They'll straighten it all out in the trial."

"What trial?" snapped Fred. "The ferret confessed."

"Draco didn't kill anybody!" yelled Harry. "I was there, remember?" His mind moved back to the scene and his voice grew quiet. "Her hands… her hands were on my shoulders." He reached up as if grasping for the memory of her touch. "I tried to stand in time, to shield her with my body, but… she tried to save me." Harry smiled sadly in warm admiration. "I felt her last breath against my cheek and she died in my arms, crumpling to the floor." Harry began to shiver. "Draco didn't raise his wand against a soul.

"Voldemort killed your mum," he said, looking directly at Fred, "and saying it was Draco is an abomination to her memory. Molly Weasley could eat the likes of Draco Malfoy for lunch and spit him out before supper. I've never seen a woman use a wand the way… the way…" He couldn't finish.

"Harry," whispered Hermione, "it gets worse. I need you to come over here and sit down." Harry hesitated. "Please?" George slapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Go on," he said, giving Harry a slight push. "We want to hear this too." Harry acquiesced and sat next to Hermione on a wooden bench. She took him by the hands. In the corridor just outside the Welcoming Hall, wizards and Healers were walking to and fro. Some greeted each other with hugs of joy, others with tears of sorrow. Here death and life battled daily with one another, a delicate balance that had been tossed on its head upon the return of the Dark Lord.

"Now, try to stay calm." Her words were anything but calming.

"Yesterday, Cho came with the baby to visit Anthony," said Hermione. "Everyone believes it's his child."

"Yes," said Harry dismissively. "I don't care what people think, but I do need to see her right away. She's still here?" Hermione nodded, gripping Harry's hands a bit more tightly. Fred, George and Charlie were trying to take in Harry's statement.

"When she arrived at the hospital, she asked where Gabriella was. Evidently the two were to meet here, hoping that they might find you or at least discern your whereabouts. Only, the thing is, Gabriella never showed. She hasn't been seen since she left Cho and Anthony's house in La Mure." Harry moved to stand, but Hermione held firmly to his hands.

"We just got word about an hour ago," she continued. "Lucius Malfoy's men discovered she was your girlfriend and they thought she might buy some leverage. They've taken her and are holding her hostage."

"Where? What do they want?" Harry's words were sharp, tense.

"We don't know where yet," replied Hermione, "but we do know what they want." She paused.

"Well, what is it?" asked Harry. "Give it to them!"

"They want Draco Malfoy." Harry laughed, as a wave of relief passed over him.

"That's easy. He's innocent. Just let him go."

"He's confessed to murdering the Minister's wife."

"This is insane!"

"Dumbledore was here a little while ago," she said. "He met Mr. Weasley in Ron and Anthony's hospital room. I don't know how, but I think he's convinced Mr. Weasley to go ahead with the exchange."

"Then why haven't they—?"

"Draco refuses," cut in Hermione. "He swears he's guilty and must be punished. They tried to use Veritaserum, but he's built up some sort of drug tolerance. It won't work." She took a deep breath.

"Then wrap his arse up and send him to his father with a red bow!" snapped Harry.

"They can't," answered Charlie. "It's Ministerial law. In any prisoner exchange the prisoner must go willingly. It's to protect those who would go back only to be punished."

"He's not going to be punished!" cried Harry. "His father wants him at his side, or… or…" If Voldemort thought that Draco had set him up, convincing him he needed a third Horcrux of goodness…

"Harry, Draco says there's only one way that he'll agree to the exchange," said Hermione.

"What's that?" Harry asked distractedly.

"He demands to see you."


	21. Family

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 21 - ****Family**

The balls Harry had been juggling in the air began to crash down to the floor. One by one, precious orb by precious orb, each and every ball was being sundered. No sooner had he plugged the dyke with one finger than a new spout of water burst forth from somewhere else. And all around, in every direction, those he loved, those who loved him were dying. Now, they had the only person he truly loved.

"I DIDN'T WANT THIS BLOODY WAR!"

Harry flung his cup of tea against the stone wall and it smashed to pieces, shards tinkling to the ground, and drips of brown liquid streaking the wall. Sirius drew his wand cleaned the mess, reassembled the cup and levitated it back down on the table in front of Harry.

"Well, that's too damn bad now, isn't it?" Sirius poured more tea into Harry's cup. "A little sugar?" he asked. Harry clenched both his fists and looked up at his uncle.

"Yes, please," he said through gritted teeth. Sirius dropped a teaspoonful into Harry's cup and the spoon began to stir by itself as he sat back down across from Harry.

"We've been over this a thousand times, Harry. There's nothing you could have done."

"You sat right there last summer, Sirius, and told me, warned me not to listen to him." Harry donned his best Sirius-like voice. "'The time will come when he asks you to do something you know in your heart is wrong. When he does, talk to me.' Well, I didn't talk to you first, did I? And now Molly Weasley's dead, the Ministry despises me, Lucius Malfoy's Death Eaters have Gabriella, and Voldemort is out there looking for my son so he can… Merlin only knows what. NOTHING I COULD HAVE DONE?" Harry's fist wrapped around his cup and he began to lift it once again.

"Ah, ah, ah!" chimed Sirius, waving his finger back and forth, and then tapping it to the table. Harry put the cup down. "You know it was your father that was always the calming influence on me." He began to smile. "Once Peter…" He paused as his eyes grew distant. "Never mind." Sirius took a sip of tea.

"I can't just sit here and do nothing," said a very frustrated Harry.

"That's exactly the attitude that nearly cost me my life," Sirius answered. "A little thought, a little patience. Cho and Anthony and Jamie will be safe here with me. No one knows there here and if they did they still wouldn't know how to get in. I think you'll make an excellent Secret Keeper, and the spell you cast on the castle to make it unplottable… Well, you didn't learn that at Hogwarts."

"I don't know," said Harry, pondering the flashes of skill that had penetrated his being since the Joining. "It just came to me."

"As for Gabriella," said Sirius, "the entire Order is out looking for her, Harry. Until they get a lead, there's nothing you can do."

"I can talk to Draco."

"After what he's done? He can cool his arse for a few more days." Harry slouched back in his chair.

What _had_ Draco done? Had he planned the whole thing? Was he somehow behind Gabriella's capture? Did he intend for Harry to be ambushed at the Ministry? It was Draco, after all that had suggested the cloak be used as a Horcrux, but to what end?

"Two steps ahead," Harry whispered.

"What's that?" Sirius asked.

"I've only been thinking two steps ahead," Harry answered. "You were right; I need to be thinking four more. Only, I can't." Harry's fingers began to tap against the table top. "But I know someone who can." Sirius leaned forward.

"Harry, you can't go there today… not today. Besides, you won't be able to get within miles of the Borough. The Ministry will have the place surrounded. Maybe after the holiday, when they go back to Hogwarts—"

"I can't wait!" Harry snapped. "You know what they're doing to her right now, don't you? You know! You saw his handiwork with the Longbottoms! If it wasn't for Ron…" Harry's hand slammed the table and he stood. "When the three of us are together… I don't know, the fog clears."

"You can't Apparate in, and they'll have every entrance guarded," Sirius asserted.

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. He hadn't tried his skills as a Metamorphmagus since summer and he'd only done Ron twice. Catching the right shade of red was particularly difficult. Carefully, he focussed on his best friend. It lasted some five minutes – black to red, a stretch of a few inches, a bit deeper voice, and a strong need for more socks. Looking at a redheaded Harry in clothes a full size too small for him, Sirius had to smile.

"I don't suppose you're going dressed like that."

"Guess I forgot," Harry answered sheepishly.

"Yeah… you can't even think one step ahead," said Sirius rolling his eyes. "Maybe you're right after all. Grab one of the black robes out of my closet and be off with yeh." Harry nodded and turned toward Sirius' room.

"And, Harry, if you get a wild hair to put your neck in another noose, let me know before they tighten the knot, okay." Harry nodded again.

"Promise?" asked Sirius.

"Promise," Harry answered. Once again he turned toward the corridor only this time he stopped himself and turned back toward Sirius. "Christmas," he said looking at the decorations Sirius had strung, as best he could, about the walls. "It's a time to be with family. Cho should be with her brother at St. Mungo's. I should be here with you."

"And little Jamie?" Sirius asked.

"Life is never what we plan, is it Sirius?"

"No, Harry. No, it's not." Sirius rose from his chair and walked over to Harry putting his arms about his godson. He sighed and looked into Harry's freckled face. "I think maybe, with a little thought, you might make your family's Christmas a bit brighter." He ruffled Harry's red hair. "Say, 'Hi,' to your brother for me."

For a moment Harry didn't understand, but then he whispered, "Bloody hell." He ran down the corridor his pants three inches too short. Sirius chuckled, poured himself another cup of tea and wandered down the corridor to find Cho, Anthony and Jamie.

Pulling off his over-tight shirt in Sirius' room, a cold shiver passed through Harry. It took him a minute to realize that it was a ghost, one of the many that haunted the castle. It was a young man, dressed in a tunic.

"I don't recall… wait… a disguise. You're the Potter boy aren't you?" Harry glared at the ghost.

"I'm no boy," said Harry, his eyes filled with fire. The ghost's chuckle was soft and whispery.

"Child, I have walked these grounds for over three thousand years, this castle for the last five hundred. To my eyes, to Helena's you are all children." He moved closer, reaching out his hand to Harry's shoulder. "Is it true what she says?" His hand touched Harry's bare shoulder. It was ice, but substantial, rough and calloused, and Harry instinctively jerked away.

"Ho, Ho!" cried the ghost. "Helena was right! You walk the precipice then?"

"Precipice?" asked Harry, slipping on Sirius' robe.

"The knife-edge between this plane and the next, life and… _death_. Some part of you has died, the rest has cheated death. The part of you that has died lingers with its living self; it has no choice. But it yearns to return to the golden light… to find its way home. Can you not feel it?"

"That's ridiculous," said Harry dismissively. He turned and found nearly a dozen ghosts gathering a round staring at him. They all were smiling as if looking at a new born baby in a bassinet.

"What are you staring at?!" Harry snapped.

"Perhaps once in an age, does one such as yourself appear."

"So?"

The gathering ghosts laughed. Then, they began to hum; it was a slow soft buzzing that built itself into a chant. Each recited a different language, but in Harry's mind they sang in unison with a common tongue that, somehow, he knew they had hummed for centuries.

_The golden light shall always call  
__its wayward children home.  
__Yet those who ill chose found the fall,  
__remain adrift, alone._

_Till comes the day a new sun born,  
__when dragon wakes the world  
__and all the darkness deep be torn,  
__and coming light unfurled._

_We wait the day the dragon comes,  
__one blind who regains sight.  
__We wait the day the dragon comes  
__to guide us to the light._

"My child, those you see around you have been trapped in this plane of existence for centuries, regretting each moment the decision they made on the day of their death, each searching for the blind dragon that would lead us from our folly. Only now are we sure. Only now do we have hope. Through you, when the new sun is born, we have the chance to answer the question again… to pass into the next plane, to die utterly."

"I haven't time for this nonsense," said Harry, pulling his wand.

"Over the last hundred years, ghosts have gathered to this spot never truly understanding why, never knowing what called them. The answer has now been revealed – they have waited for you – the blind dragon that sees again."

"_You're_ crazy and _I_ have to go." Harry raised his wand preparing to Disapparate.

"You mustn't put yourself at risk!" said the ghost with concern. "If the rest of you were to die, there would be no hope for those here."

"Not to worry. I have no intention of dying." Indeed, he focused his mind on much happier thoughts. There was a snap – Harry had Disapparated.

When he reappeared, the air was just as moist but far more frigid. The sun was still high in the sky, casting a myriad of shadows through the leafless trees above. There was a thin dusting of snow on the ground and all about him the trees rose like skyscrapers, reaching for the heavens. He loved this countryside, he always had and having his eyesight back made it just that much more beautiful. For a moment he just looked about taking in the scenery, wishing that he could just… he reached down and made a small snowball in the palms of his hands. Smiling down at the white orb, he heard a distant snap in the trees to his left. An Apparation? A stick? He dropped the snowball and pulled his wand.

He squinted, but saw nothing. Then, he closed his eyes and reached further. Even with his mind's eye, searching for an aura of life ahead, he could not distinguish anything through the brightness of the living trees. Shrugging, he slipped his wand away and made for the road that led to the Borough. He walked for about ten minutes when he found the road. He cast a quick spell, cleaning the snow and debris from the bottom of his robes. He could see up ahead three, no four wizards certainly part of the Ministry, guarding the roads leading to the Borough, protecting the Weasley family from interruption on what must surely be a sad Christmas holiday. Once more, he concentrated on his metamorphosis, making sure that every feature was the image of his best friend, Ron Weasley.

As he moved forward, he noticed that the wizards were wearing black, not the normal Ministerial purple that Mr. Weasley's guards would normally wear. _Probably in honour of Mrs. Weasley's death,_ Harry thought. Believing it would look awkward for Ron to try to sneak by, Harry decided it best to simply walk forward with his head up as if he had nothing to hide.

"There," one of the guards ahead cried out, pointing at Harry. "Right there!" Two others turned toward Harry.

"It's one of the Weasley boys!" one shouted. Harry smiled to himself. His disguise was working.

"Take him down," another barked out with a gruff, commanding voice.

"_Immobulus!"_ cried the guard nearest the Ronald Weasley look-alike. Harry didn't understand. Why were they attacking him? He had no time to draw his wand. Instead he held out his hand, hoping that if he focused hard enough…

"_Áreddotu!"_ he commanded and the beam reflected back to the sender, freezing him where he stood. The quiet afternoon air suddenly filled with a blaze of beams from the remaining three wizards, all attacking Harry. But before even the second spell, a stunner, flew threw the air, Harry had his wand at the ready and began to deflect them as best he could. The reflected beams crashed into trees, cracking some in two and starting fires in others. Soon the nearby forest was ablaze and a black billowing smoke rose to the dusty blue sky above.

Off to Harry's left, another wizard in black robes appeared as Harry continued to press forward. A beam of blue light flew towards Harry who directed it skyward with a shield charm; it exploded into a canopy of blue sparkles like a Filibuster Firework. All of Harry's spells to this point were defensive, and then he came to the wizard that was prone on the ground, the one that cast the first spell. Dangling down around his neck was a mask – the mask of a Death Eater. _Death Eater?_ Harry looked ahead at one of the other attackers. He too had his mask down about his neck. Evidently, they'd removed them to take in the sun's warmth on the cold, winter day.

Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Had Voldemort's men, or Malfoy's, taken the Borough as they had done the year before? Last year the Weasley home had been vacant, but this year… this year… his friends… his family! Harry began to attack.

He felled two almost at once with a stunning spell. Diving down low to avoid another stunner from the front, a slashing hex sliced across his left shoulder leaving a nasty gash; he screamed in pain as the wizard to his left laughed. It was the last sound he made. Harry spun and took that wizard down, leaving only the two in front of him. Pulling from the lessons he'd learned from Greg Goyle, Harry sent a broad, powerful stunner toward the pair. It blasted both backward to the ground. Harry pressed forward along the muddy roadway, wand held firmly in front. One wizard stayed down, while the other rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Incarcerous!" shouted Harry. Ropes wrapped about the prone wizard, but the other deflected the spell.

"You're too young to be the older boy," the wizard in front asserted breathlessly, his wand held at the ready. "The one that plays with dragons." He Disapparated and re-apparated to Harry's right, near the trees, casting a stunner that flew wide.

"You're too skilled with a wand to be the young one," the wizard argued wisely. Again he Disapparated and re-apparated this time back towards the road. _"Incendio!"_ he called. Had Harry not been a member of the Votary, trained to withstand fire, he'd have most certainly been incinerated. Instead, the flames wrapped about his body like loving snakes. Harry simply pointed his wand forward, toward his adversary, and the flames flew back toward him, encircling him like snapping piranha. He began to scream and Disapparated once more.

There was a _SNAP_ to Harry's left; this time Harry was ready, sending a particularly strong stunning spell in the direction of… purple robes. The wizard flew backward and crumpled to the ground.

"Oh, no," Harry whispered and he ran toward the fallen wizard from the Ministry. He looked down to see the wizard, a man Harry recognized from the Hogwarts Express earlier in the year – the same wizard Harry had felled during the Dementor attack.

"Oh, no."

Almost immediately, the air filled with the crackling of popcorn. Harry ignored the sound to see if the man before him needed assistance, but before he could even place a hand on the wizard's chest the air crackled and everything went black.

As he began to regain consciousness, he noticed he was being jerkily jangled about like so much loose change in someone's pocket. He was being carried; they were running. They were arguing in hushed whispers.

"_I'm_ not the one who just blasted the Minister's son!"

"It was an accident! I thought—"

"You thought wrong! The boy sends out a distress flare and you go in wands blazing."

"Would you two just stop arguing?" It was a female voice. "Get the boy inside; I need to get the others to see if there are more of Malfoy's men than those Ron took down. Incredible! He takes out five Death Eaters and our own man shoots him in the back."

"I said it was—" There was a pop and she was gone. Harry, still looking like Ron Weasley, began to stir. His head was pounding, his left shoulder aching.

"Hey, I… I—"

"Stay still, Ron; there's a good lad."

"Yes, son, best not to speak."

Harry opened his eyes. They had just passed the wooden fence that skirted the front of the Weasley home. Harry had never seen it in such good repair. They headed up the front steps, when another wizard in purple robes opened the front door. Behind him was Hermione Granger. For an instant, Harry met eye to eye with her, and in that instant he revealed one of those eyes as a flash of green. She gasped, covering her mouth.

"What's going on?" asked the wizard.

"It's the youngest Weasley boy," replied one of the men carrying Harry. "He was ambushed just down the road. He took down a few Death Eaters with him by the looks of things."

"Ron?" questioned the wizard at the door. "I just saw him not twenty minutes ago… upstairs in his room reading a—"

"Erm, he left for a walk," interrupted Hermione. "All the stress… he needed to get away."

"He should know better. Wait until his father finds out." Harry noticed Hermione quietly slip away.

"He was hit with a neuropathy jinx," said the wizard that had struck Harry from behind. "Best that we get the cobwebs cleared before he—"

"How can you be so sure? That's a very complex spell. Besides yourself, only a very few—"

"Look, I know okay!" the wizard snapped irritably.

"Yeah, you know all right," muttered the other.

"Let's just get him inside, okay?"

As they moved him into the house, the sound of wand fire could be heard off into the distance. Evidently, Harry had stumbled across only one group of what was to be a combined attack. Once inside, Harry was taken to a small room just off the kitchen. His legs began to tingle. He didn't remember this room being here before. It was a small medical suite used for treating minor injuries. He was placed on a tall, hard bed and the wizard that had greeted them at the door began to examine him.

"That's a nasty gash." He bathed it in blue light, and then reached into one of the cabinets. "Here, drink this." He handed Harry a potion and, though his hand was shaking badly, Harry drank it down. The tingling in his legs stopped as did the pounding in his head. "It's good they got you here while you could still drink. Potions always treat neuropathy better than spells." Harry began to sit up, but the wizard pushed him back down.

"Best if you rest a bit, Ron. I'll go get your father." Harry dropped his head back down as the wizard left the room. Half a heartbeat later, Hermione slipped in quietly and walked over to his side.

"Harry?" she asked uncertainly. He smiled, shakily.

"Not quite how I planned it," he said using his own voice.

"Your eyes… one's turning green again." She touched the side of his face which was still grimy from falling face first into the mud.

"I needed to see you guys," said Harry, rising to a seated position. "I couldn't wait and I thought—" The door opened and in walked Ron.

"What in Merlin's— _whoa!_" Ron yelped, seeing his own likeness. Slowly, he closed the door behind him, and then stepped over for a closer look. "Harry?"

"Who's that?" exclaimed Harry, grasping Hermione by the hand. "What have you been doing behind my back, Hermione?"

"I… I didn't know, love," said Hermione, clinging to Harry's arm.

"You can't be serious," said Ron. The two just stared at him blankly. "I mean… I'm Ron, right?"

Harry and Hermione began to laugh and Harry transformed back into himself – Sirius' robes growing large for his smaller frame.

"You!" Ron snorted, poking Harry on his good shoulder. "I should—"

"We've got to get him upstairs," interrupted Hermione. "Quick, swap clothes."

"But—"

"Just do it!"

The two swapped clothes, Ron's jeans dropping down about Harry's waste. Hermione ruffled Ron's hair and wiped some mud from one of Harry's boots onto his face.

"Pretend you don't remember a thing," said Hermione.

"I don't know what you're talking about," complained Ron.

"Perfect," asserted Hermione. She spun toward Harry. "Now… erm, do you think you could become Percy? He didn't want to be here for Christmas."

"I… I don't think so," stammered Harry nervously. "I can't really copy someone I haven't… someone I don't know well. Not exactly."

"Here then," she grabbed a large blue towel and put it about his head and shoulders. "Just pick some other face then… well, other than yours, and let's get you upstairs. There have been all sorts of folks through here, paying their respects. But the guards have been told to keep a special eye out for you." She sighed, saddened. "Ron, I'll be back in just a minute."

The commotion outside the house had drawn all those inside to the front door. Even Ginny was plastered against one of the front windows wondering what was going on. Quickly, Hermione and Harry made their way up the stairs to where Ron's room was. She sat Harry down on the bed.

"There," she said, "no one ever bothers to look up here. Only Mrs. We—" She stopped herself. "Hey, are you… alright?" The expression Harry gave her was the one she'd expected. He was not alright; he was in pain and not from any physical injury. "I understand. Look, just rest a bit and I'll get Ron up here as soon as I can." She started for the door, then stopped. "Are you hungry?" Harry shook his head, no, and Hermione nodded. "It won't be too long," she said softly and left the room, gently closing the door behind her.

Harry let out a long slow sigh as he looked about the room. It hadn't changed much from the first day he came to visit the Borough. He remembered arguing with Ron about Quidditch. Somehow, life seemed simpler then, but really it wasn't. Life had never been simple for Harry, nor had it ever been simple for those near him. He stood and walked over to a photograph that hung on the wall near a Cannons poster. In the frame, the family was trying to stand for the photographer, but Fred and George had smoke billowing out of their ears. Mrs. Weasley was furious and kept trying to smack them to stop. She missed every time. Harry smiled as a tear ran down the right side of his face. He wiped it away with his hand and noticed the scar on his right forearm – the mark of the dragon. Staring at the mark, he turned his back to the wall and slid down to the floor.

"What good have I been?" he asked defiantly. "A magnet for death everywhere I go. _Why me, Soseh?_" He dropped his hands to the floor and wrapped his fingers around a pile of dirty clothes laying there, squeezing them tightly in his fists. He looked over toward the open window. The sound of wandfire had silenced. Whatever threat there was had been defeated. Harry continued to whisper to the mother of his girlfriend, trying to find the meaning of it all. The back of his head banged against the wall with a thud.

"_They've all died because of me, and now your daughter's in Malfoy's hands. If she's even still alive."_ He looked around the room, his eyes misting over. Near Ron's bed was a picture of Ron and Hermione glaring at each other and then suddenly breaking out in laughter followed by a kiss and an embrace. "Why am I here?" Harry muttered, his heart beginning to beat faster. He was putting them in danger once again. It was all a mistake, every bit of it – a grand, cosmic error in the machinery. He had to leave.

Harry stood to his feet and tried to Disapparate. _Vision... Pathway…_ He couldn't create the pathway. Something was blocking him. "Of course it's blocked," he chided himself. "I'll need to leave the—" The door opened and in came Ron and Hermione. Ron had a bottle in his hand filled with some sort of potion.

"Hey, mate," he said, holding up the bottle.

"Hey. Erm, I'm… I'm sorry," said Harry. "This was a mistake. I need to go." Hermione looked at Ron, and he at her. _Was Ron reading her mind?_ Then Ron looked back to Harry.

"Not so fast," he said. "They wanted me to drink this, but I expect it's best if you—"

"I'm fine," Harry cut in sharply. "I just need to—"

"You're a bloody crank is what you are. Well… at least _that's_ normal." Harry glared back at Ron.

"Go on, Harry," encouraged Hermione. "Drink the potion; your brain's been addled and the neuropathy hex requires two doses." Ron held it up again and this time Harry took it.

"This is stupid," Harry said, shaking his head and offering the bottle back, "I shouldn't have come here. You… you need to be with your family." Harry's voice was shaky and he could not hold Ron's gaze. "I… I need to go." Ron did not take the bottle in return.

"Look, Harry," he said, "just drink the gunk."

"If you have to go," added Hermione, "it'll help you keep your wits along the way."

Harry held up the bottle containing a brown, burping liquid.

"Did they have to make it look so vile?" he asked with a squeamish face.

"Go on," said Hermione. "It's the only way I could get them to let Ron come up to his room. I have to show them he's drunk it down, or they'll be up here snooping around."

"Fine. I drink this… I go… you have a Happy Christmas… or at least… I mean… ah, crap." Harry gulped the thick liquid in one swig and then handed the bottle back to Hermione. "There you go," he said. "Tell them Ron finished his medicine and is feeling f—" The room turned a bit and Harry reached out, taking Ron by the arm.

"What is it, mate?" Ron asked with a bit of slyness in his eyes.

Harry tried to speak. In fact, he was speaking; only the words he was saying didn't make any sense. Even Harry knew he was speaking gibberish. He pointed to the bed, but it was too late. He collapsed to the floor. Ron took one side and Hermione the other and they lifted Harry onto Ron's bed. Everything was growing foggier and foggier – the sounds in the room more distant. Before everything faded to nothingness he heard Ron say…

"You were right, Hermione; he was going to bolt. Blimey, it's Christmas, Harry. It's a time to be with family. Don't you get it? You're right where you need to be."


	22. Friendship

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 22 ****– Friendship**

It was a deep, restful sleep, the kind of sleep that takes the mind to happier places and more pleasant times. Cool placid waters, barefoot walks and simple gazing at the stars, stars with no gleaming red Mars to disrupt their harmony and no comet Ebyrth to mark the return of war. It was well into the morning after Christmas day when Harry began to stir, ever so slightly, from this place of deep and forgotten memories. His mind was just beginning to process the voices about him, those of friends and family.

"Vampires?"

"Dozens. And so many Dementors they blocked out the bloody sky."

"No," Ginny gasped.

"I'm telling you," answered Fred, "he was right in the thick of it." Someone seated on the end of the bed shifted their weight and it let out a small squeak.

"Shhhh. You'll wake him." That was Hermione.

"The whole lot of them," continued Fred, "was marching up the mountain like a great swarm of black locusts. We were outnumbered ten to one… easy!" Ginny gasped again. "The werewolves were the primary line of defence. We attacked first, of course."

"That's only because you stink so bad," said George. "No one in their right mind would be caught on the same battlefield. The odour… it's overwhelming."

"Not the dragons?" queried Hermione.

"Yeah, well," said Fred, falling a bit off the tracks of his story, "I don't really remember much after the change. Except one thing… he saved my life." Harry felt a hand on his arm. "That I know as sure as I'm sitting here."

"Is it true what they say about… You-Know-Who."

"If what Harry says is true," said Charlie, "yes, Ginny. Voldemort's alive." Harry could feel the entire room squirm upon hearing the name. "Some of us…" There was a slap.

"Hey! That hurt," said George. Charlie continued.

"Some of us _climbed_ Singehorn's mountain by foot. I met quite a few wizards, holding sentry at a number of outposts on the way up. To a wizard, they all talked about a blonde beast, controlling the dark forces at the base of the mountain."

"Blonde?"

"Lucius Malfoy." Almost everyone in the room hissed… or growled.

"After the battle, they also spoke of how the Primate met him face-to-face and sent him running."

"What's a Primate?"

"Harry is, sis. They're calling him the Primate of the Votary of the Dragon. Some say, he was leading the battle for the dragons. Don't ask me much more, because I'm still trying to figure it out. All I know is that afterward he began to heal folks like little brother here and it nearly cost him his life."

"I… I should have been there." It was Ron. He was seated somewhere in the far corner, somehow distant from the others. His voice was sullen and quite.

"Ron," chided Hermione, "you were in hospital."

"You don't think he'd have tried to sneak out if the tables had been turned?"

"You were unconscious for three days!"

"I should have been there."

"No," muttered Harry, his mind clearing ever so slightly. "No, Ron…" Harry tried to sit up.

"Easy, Harry," said Hermione, touching his shoulder softly, "the sleeping draught isn't supposed to wear off for another hour or two." Harry struggled to bring his head up and looked over at Ron who was slumped in the corner on the floor.

"You're wrong," Harry said, his thoughts still fuzzy and his ability to pull a coherent sentence together somewhat impaired. "It… it wasn't just Fred, or Remus. You were there. You… you were _all_ there… right… right here." Harry patted his chest and fell back onto the bed. "Whoa, that is a bit potent, isn't it? George, you could put it… put it in a nougat. Erm... _Nighttime Nibbles._ What do you think?" Everyone in the room began to laugh, but the joviality was silenced instantly when Mr. Weasley suddenly appeared at the doorway.

He was wearing black robes, wrinkled and somewhat stained as if he'd left them on for days and hadn't bothered with a spell to clean them. His face was tired, thin and pale, and his eyes were distant. Harry suspected that they still, however, bore the same expression of heartfelt anger as when Harry had last seen Mr. Weasley over the body of his wife. The fire in them was penetrating.

"IS THIS THE RESPECT YOU SHOW YOUR DEAD MOTHER?" he cried. He looked at Charlie, seated on the floor by Harry's bed; the eldest Weasley in the room.

"We could use with a bit more laughter 'bout here," said Charlie softly. "Don't you thing dad?"

"I want him out of here today," he said shortly, thrusting a sharp finger at Harry. "Today! Do you hear me?" Everyone in the room moved uncomfortably, everyone but Charlie, who rose to meet his father.

"His name is Harry, Dad," he said. "You remember Harry don't you? He saved you from being crushed by a giant last year."

"And, year before that, he saved your life after you were attacked by the snake," added Fred.

"He's the wizard," continued Charlie, "that may just have saved every one of us yesterday by breaking up a Death Eater plot to kill us all right outside our front porch." Mr. Weasley let out a short, snorting laugh.

"Is that what you think?" he said incredulously, his eyes narrowing on Charlie and then to the others in the room. "_Saved_ us? Is that what you all think? Haven't you figured it out by now? The boy carries Death Eaters in his back pocket; when he pulls off his trainers Dementors come pouring out. They're with him wherever he goes. Why do you think Death Eaters were on our doorstep in the first place?"

"Dad, how can you say that!" exclaimed Hermione; it was the first time Harry had ever heard her refer to Mr. Weasley in that way. Now she rose to her feet to defend Harry. "He only ever—"

"Stop it!" demanded Harry weakly, looking at the others. "All of you, just…" He was struggling to fight the potion still coursing through his veins. Even though he was waking, there were still a few cobwebs in his head and he was still having trouble trying to find the right words. "Your father's right. As ever… erm, as long as I'm here, I danger you. I shouldn't..." Harry fought to sit up, grimacing at the ache that lingered where his shoulder had been slashed. Ginny had to help him. The room was so crowded that he had to put his hand on Charlie's hip to push him aside, giving Harry a clear look at Mr. Weasley. Try as he might, he was having tremendous difficulty focusing on the man he so much respected.

"I… I'm sorry, sir," Harry said humbly. "I just needed to see…" He looked over at Ron who was still seated against the wall. Their eyes met and Harry could tell that his best friend was very upset, but he had no way of telling why. Harry pulled in a breath.

"No. I should never have come. I'll… I go now." Putting his hand on Ginny's shoulder, he tried to stand, but his knees wouldn't hold and he crumpled to the ground, banging his head against the rail that ran across the side of Ron's bed. A cut opened on Harry's forehead where his scar had once been and a small trickle of blood weaved its way down, not unlike the shape of a lightning bolt. With George's help, Ron lifted him back into bed.

"He needs to rest," he said.

"He needs to go."

Ginny, the youngest of them all, yet perhaps the most brave, stepped over to her father and gently took his hand in her own, holding it up to her chest as she looked into her father's eyes. When Mr. Weasley looked down into his daughter's eyes, he found tears there. She sniffed, searching for the right words.

"If Mum were alive today… where do you think she would be right now? Dad, you know what she'd say?" Mr. Weasley's jaw clenched as Ginny handed him a small crumpled piece of parchment. For nearly a year, Harry's carried this note with him wherever he's gone." She looked back at Harry. "Sorry Harry; Gab told us and we saw it on the nightstand with your things." She turned back to her father. "Read it dad. Read what Mum says."

Mr. Weasley opened the worn paper and when he first caught sight of the script, his wife's handwriting, he pulled in a great gasp of air to keep from crying.

"Please dad, read it," whispered Ginny, supporting her father by the elbow. Slowly, struggling through nearly every word, Mr. Weasley read the note.

"_My dear Harry,_

"_Would that I could reset the hands of time and set the world right, but alas my magic is no match for the fate that stands before each of us. It is clear to all that the path you've been forced to travel has been cruel and unkind. And still, with all the adversities you have faced, with all the battles you have fought, you have found time to smile, to care, to love. Could there be someone else in all the world with more loyalty, with more bravery, with more compassion? _

"_We are all forever in your debt. You faced death but did not strike, and in so doing brought light to darkness, life to death. It is by your example we still have hope that, one day, we will win this war against hatred. _

"_With all the love a mother can give her children, M.__"_

Mr. Weasley's eyes began to mist and he pulled his daughter close to him, clinging to her as if she might slip away and never return. It lasted a beat, perhaps two, and then, suddenly, the mist in his eyes was gone; he became rigid and let go his daughter.

"All of you," he said sharply, "get out. I want to speak with…" He swallowed. "…with Harry… alone." There was a bit of complaining, but most took the mention of Harry's name as a good sign. "Go on. Out… now." His voice was stern and they knew he meant it. One by one they all began to leave. Hermione, the last out the door kissed Harry on the cheek and then did the same to Mr. Weasley.

"I love you both," she said before she left. Mr. Weasley gave her a slight nod and then closed the door as she departed with the wave of his hand.

He stood there for some moments, silent, stoic, unwilling or unable to speak. Harry tried to find the strength to stay awake, but the warmth of the room and the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance were lulling him to sleep once more. Finally, Mr. Weasley walked over, handed the note back to Harry, and sat on the chair next to Ron's bed. He had to sit on its edge since it was covered in layer upon layer of Ron's dirty clothes. He leaned forward toward Harry, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together.

"You…" he began, "you think you killed Molly." It was not a question, but rather a statement, Harry felt the need to respond anyway.

"It's all me," answered Harry dully, trying desperately to focus his thoughts. "My faults."

"Shhh," hushed Mr. Weasley. "Rest, Harry. Just rest." He put his head in his hands, looking down at his feet. "I wanted to speak with you months ago; do you remember? I asked to meet with you on the Hogwarts Express. I knew then… or thought I knew, but I let the day-to-day business get in the way. Minister of Magic… what a farce. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and before I blinked Voldemort had been reborn and my wife was dead.

"I wanted to warn you then, that day on the train, that he might not be dead, that he might have used a Horcrux. But I couldn't mention such a thing in front of the others. Maybe… maybe if I had… maybe we would have talked; you could have confided in me; we could have worked together. I never dreamed… the cloak.

"It was me, Harry. My fault on so many levels." Mr. Weasley's hands began to tremble slightly. He looked as if he might be sick and Harry, once again, tried to sit up, but Mr. Weasley moved forward, setting his knees to the ground and taking Harry by the hand, once again hushing him. His hands were icy and the trembling grew steadily worse.

"We were on the third floor together, making preparations. It was to be a grand celebration. I was focused on its representation for the defeat of Voldemort – the Dark Lord's last remains on display for all to see. What a grand day for the Ministry, for me; only in my heart I knew better. Molly was more excited about what a grand day it would be for you, Harry. All she could talk about was how proud she was, how you'd be the youngest in history to receive the Order of Merlin, and how you so deserved it for all you had tried to do to ensure Muggle safety, especially during Anaxarete's bombings last year. It was Harry this and Harry that. I see now… my ego…

"Shacklebolt was with us. He was supposed to take the cloak up for display. Molly and I were going to go home, eat and get some much needed rest before the following day's festivities. But I grew a bit miffed that my wife spoke more about you than her own husband. It seems so… so petty now." He chuckled – a short, sad laugh. "Why wouldn't she go on about one of her own children? Why wouldn't she boast in front of Shacklebolt how wonderful you were? Any mother would, and you were as dear a son as any roaming these halls with red hair. Why couldn't I have been just as proud of your accomplishments? I had been before. I am now. But then… during that one tick of Fate's clock…

"No, Harry." Mr. Weasley shuddered. "In my… in my desire for a moment's respite from my own stupidity, I asked her to take the cloak up for display. I… I sent her to her death. I killed Molly…. I killed Molly…. I killed…." He grabbed the edge of the sheet on Harry's bed and began to weep quietly into the linen. Finally, he looked back at Harry whose eyes were open, but distant.

"I'm so sorry, son. Piling sin upon sin, I had the audacity to blame you… you who would have sooner died trying to save her. I saw the remembrance photographs; my security staff replayed the entire scene in my office. I must have watched them continuously for days and days. How could a boy kill my Molly?" Mr. Weasley brought himself up to one knee. "But it was no boy, was it Harry? We both know that." He took in a deep breath and then put his hand on Harry's head.

"Forgive me? Please?"

Harry shook his head. "My fault," he whispered, a tear running down the side of his face. Mr. Weasley wiped it away and smiled.

"Harry, you've never done anything that wouldn't make your parents proud. Molly's with them now, and they're all looking down on you and smiling. We're all smiling because were so proud of all you've accomplished." Mr. Weasley stood to his feet, his smile broadened. "Except for that time you and Ron stole my car." He stepped toward the door.

"Get some sleep, son. When you wake, there are gifts to unwrap." He pulled the door open and a mass of red hair, Weasley child after Weasley child, tumbled into Harry's room, spilling out onto the floor. Mr. Weasley gave a particularly hard kick into George's side. "All of you! Get out and let him rest!" Once again he shooed them all away and just before he shut the door one last time he looked back at Harry – who was asleep.

When the potion had finally lost its effects, Harry woke and found that the weariness of war had left his shoulders and his legs. The gash that had torn his shoulder was all but gone; only a thin white line remained. He was suddenly concerned what Gabriella might say if she saw yet another battle mark, and his mind turned in an instant.

"_Gabriella!"_ He sat bolt upright and turned only to find Hermione and Ron slumped in the chair behind him. They were both asleep. It was still light outside, but the trees were casting long shadows on the lawn in front and soon the sun would be gone. He'd lost another day. He began, as quietly as he could, to dress himself. An old set of clothes had been set out for him; he recognized them as something Ron had worn last year. Too small for Ron now, they fit Harry fine.

He reached for the sweater and his hand hesitated. It was a crimson sweater, knitted by hand with a large H on the front. It wasn't old – it was new, knitted most certainly by Mrs. Weasley as a present for Harry this year. Slowly, Harry picked it up and held it in his hands. He paused for a moment, said a silent, _Thank You,_ and slipped on the sweater. For the first time in days, he felt warm.

He was ready to leave when he realized he didn't have his wand. He began to look for it and finally noticed it on the table by his bed – just next to Ron. He didn't want to utter the spell to summon it, but he'd have to lean over the two of them to retrieve it.

Carefully, he stepped over and reached for his wand, trying hard not to brush up against Ron who was snoring slightly. His fingers were almost there when—

"Where are you going?" Ron asked as he grabbed Harry's outstretched arm by the wrist. Harry extended, the wand snapped into his hand, and he then pulled free from Ron's grasp, slipping the wand into his back pocket.

"To find some pants that fit me," he replied. Hermione began to stir.

"Is he… is he awake?" she asked Ron blearily.

"Yeah, he's awake," Ron answered, stretching his legs forward. "And he's trying to slink off. Told you he'd try." Soon, all three of them were on their feet. Only, Hermione made a point of standing in front of the door, blocking Harry's path.

"I'm not slinking. I have to go."

"You heard Dad," said Ron, extending his arm and pointing to some unknown spot below the floor. Harry wondered if Mr. Weasley was actually there. "He forgives you."

"Well he shouldn't!" Harry snapped, and then his posture slumped, regretting his tone. "He shouldn't." The scene began to play in Harry's mind once again, much like the movies of Sirius' death had haunted Harry over a year ago. He sighed. "Like I said, I have to go." He moved to the door, but Hermione wouldn't budge.

"Go where?" she asked.

"I have to help her. I have to get her back."

"You don't even know where she is."

"I don't care! I have to look."

"Why in the bloody hell did you come here then?" asked Ron sharply. "Is Dad right? Did you just blunder by, bringing the Death Eaters with you?"

"No!"

"Then why? To rant on about how you shouldn't be here? To bawl like a bloody baby?" Ron moved closer. "To cry so Dad would feel sorry for your pitiful—" Harry drew his wand; Ron paused. "To hex me?" he said more softly, with the slightest hint of a smile.

"I came here to see YOU, damn it!" Harry yelled. "And a lot of good it's doing!" He slipped his wand away. "What a waste of time."

"You're right," answered Hermione smartly. "Gabriella could be dying and you're fiddling around trying to figure out what to do, wasting time, when you already know what you need to do."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Hermione and I talked about it while you were sleeping," said Ron. "You've got to go see him."

"Who?" asked Harry.

"You know."

"Draco? But you said that I couldn't. That the Minister—"

"The Minister has changed his mind," said Hermione with a smile, reaching over and squeezing Ron's hand.

"You can thank me later," added Ron.

"But your dad… true or not, your dad thinks Draco had a hand in your mum's death."

"No… no he doesn't." Ron picked up the picture of his family and looked at the moving people. "He was angry. He just needed someone to blame, anybody to blame, but he couldn't get his hands on the one wizard he knew was guilty. So he lashed out at you, at James, at Draco. When they were well enough to walk, he had them both imprisoned on Fengsle Isle east of Shetland."

"James? But James had nothing to do—"

"If you sat and watched as he cast the spell that killed my mother over and over again, you'd change your thinking about him. I don't care how rational you are. It'll take every ounce of control not to blast him to bits when I see him again."

"But—"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione interrupted. "Ron's dad sent a message over an hour ago. James is to be released and you're to meet with Draco today." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small white envelope. "I wish you could stay, but I know you won't. If you have to go, you need to make your first stop here." She handed Harry the envelope. "It's a Portkey, the key inside that is." Harry opened the envelope and saw a small gold key, and then looked up at his two friends, standing arm-in-arm. They were both smiling, but their eyes were sad.

"Tell him… tell him Blaise is better," said Ron. "They've lifted the imperious curse. Everyone at Hogwarts has been screened, even the professors. And Harry, let us know what you find out. We'll do whatever we can to help."

"I know you will. I know you will." Harry chuckled to himself. "That's what worries me." Just before he took the key, he stopped and looked back at them. "Thanks," he said and added, "Merry Christmas," and then grabbed the key.

There was a _whoosh_ and a moment later he found himself in front of a large stone wall on what appeared to be a small rocky island. The sky was blue, but the wind was bitterly cold and blew through the knit of his sweater. All around were splotches of snow, worn down by the wind. The waves were rough and crashed into the rocky coastline sending large plumes of sea spray high into the air. Further up the surf's spray froze, making the upper shoreline sparkle like so many diamonds.

"Hello!" Harry tried to yell above the wind, his arms folded about him. There was no answer. A particularly large wave crashed behind him and he pulled his wand to cast a shielding charm, but nothing happened and the frigid mist sprayed him, dampening his clothes so that the wind was just that much more chilling.

"Is an-n-nybody here?" he cried out, teeth chattering. Still nothing. He was about to grab the key again, to return to the Borough when the ground began to rumble. He was looking at the wall, expecting some passage to open up before him, but nothing appeared. He stepped back to get a better look when he slipped on an ice covered rock; someone grabbed his arm.

"Sir?"

Harry spun, saw dark robes, and _"Stupefy!"_ he cried, but again there was no magic… nothing, not even a sparkle from his wand. Before him was a man in dark blue robes, wearing a thin smile.

"A bit jumpy are we?" he asked. "I can understand. You are Mr. Harry Potter I presume?"

Harry just gawked. Looking past the wizard before him was the ocean, well, not the ocean. It, or a good portion of it, had disappeared. It was as if Moses had split the Red Sea; a great hole at the seashore plunged down below the waters. Stairs had appeared at the rocky edge and disappeared into the sea below. It looked as if great glass walls were holding the water back and Harry saw any number of sea creatures looking back at him, some he'd never seen before.

"Harry Potter?"

"What? Erm… er, yes."

"Very good. Please follow me." The wizard turned and began his way down the steps; Harry followed, looking up, as he went down, at the ocean above him, wondering if at any minute the sea would fall back on top of him and wondering what he might do without any magic to help him to the surface. Deeper and deeper they climbed, lower and lower. Soon the light of the sun was nothing but a dark green glow. Some minutes later, they came to a great iron door, baring the passage through the face of a rock wall. Water dripped into small pools, echoing eerily in this make-shift cavern. Neither said a word until the wizard pulled a large iron key and turned it into the lock. Click-click-clank! The door creaked open.

"Best to step briskly, sir," said the wizard. They'd been walking so slowly, Harry, teeth still chattering, was confused and then he heard the crashing sea. He looked back and could see the froth and waves curling into the canyon through which they'd just travelled.

"Please, sir."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Quickly, he darted in through the door; the wizard followed behind him, closed the door and turned a large handle sealing it tight. A moment later, Harry heard the sea crash against the door and it groaned miserably. He felt certain it would breech, but the wizard in blue robes was as calm as ever.

"I take it, sir, that this is your first visit with us?" The wizard placed his keys over a large hook on the wall.

The place was dark, damp and had an odour of sour seaweed. The small entryway they were in was tight, confining, and the lighting was dim at best. A large rat scurried across the floor, reminding Harry of Scabbers.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name, sir, is Winston, Keeper of the Keys at Fengsle Isle. Welcome to our humble abode." He held out his hand and Harry took it in his own. The middle-aged man seemed quite affable, but reminded Harry a bit of his Uncle Vernon. He wondered what was truly behind the Cheshire smile. Winston went over to a rough hewn table and lifted a set of papers.

"Let me see… yes, here they are. The Minister has authorized you to see Master Malfoy."

"Master?"

"Sir, certainly you are aware that the Malfoy name is one of the most distinguished in all Britain. It matters not what sort of nastiness the young lad found himself in at the Ministry. He is still a Malfoy. One must always show a modicum of respect. Besides, as I understand it, you are here to set things straight."

"Right," Harry said sceptically.

"He's just down this way."

They left the antechamber and started through another door that opened out onto a long corridor. Cells lined the path that was just wide enough to keep Harry and Winston out of arm's reach. In nearly every cell they passed there was a prisoner. Some yelled out slurs, others curses; some cried for food or water, while most simply screamed schizophrenic gibberish. There were dozens in this miserable place, but Winston ignored them all, while whistling a happy tune.

"Are you the only one here?" Harry asked, wondering how only one could manage so many. His question was answered almost immediately when a torch appeared near the end of the long corridor some fifty yards away.

"No, Mr. Potter. My wife is here with me," said Winston. "That's her now. Ah, and that must be the Chang boy with her."

"James?"

"Yes… yes, he's being released today… poor lad."

"What do you mean, 'poor'?"

"Well, he killed the Minister's wife, didn't he? He's been here for his own protection. Once he's out, I don't hold much hope that he'll…" Winston leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Well, some people can be vicious, can't they Mr. Potter?"

"Yes," replied Harry, looking around at the squalid conditions of the prison. "Yes they can."

Finally, they were close enough that Harry could see James' face. When James saw that it was Harry, there was a wrathful reaction.

"You!" he hissed with a high cold voice. He raised his hand to strike Harry when the woman who was evidently Winston's wife grabbed him by the arm. "I hate you… I h-…" James' posture drooped; his eyes squinted in the darkness. "Harry?" he said with a child's voice. "Harry, is it really you?" This time he reached out to put his arms around Harry, but again the woman stayed his hand.

"Let him go!" Harry snapped, and she did so with a shrug of her shoulders. James rushed Harry and held him tight. The second year was trembling with fright.

"What's happening to me?" James whispered. "I wanted to die, but I couldn't. I couldn't stop it. And then… and then… They say I killed… I killed…"

"It's okay James," Harry answered, holding him in his arms. "It's okay." He turned to Winston. "Hasn't he gotten any help?"

"They come from St. Mungo's every day, sir. He's to head back there now. Perhaps, when the new school year starts Dumbledore will take him back."

"Sooner than that," answered Harry quickly, more to assure James than anything else. "He will; I'm certain of it."

"Yes," said Winston's wife, "I've heard he's that way." The manner with which she spoke had a disparaging tone, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck began to prickle. He was about to say what exactly he thought of her opinion when Winston interrupted.

"Dear, please take the boy to the front. They'll be sending for him shortly."

"Of course," she replied, and she reached for James, but James didn't want to let go of Harry. Slowly, Harry pulled his hands away.

"You'll be fine, James." He looked into the boy's eyes, his son's uncle. "I'll be over to see you just as soon as I can. First, we need to get you out of here. Go, on. Let her take you to get help." After a moment, James nodded his head and walked past Harry and Winston to the front of the prison. What was most noticeable was that the howls and jeers that had accompanied Harry on his entrance did not accompany James on his exit. If anything the prisoners made every attempt not to be noticed. All that is but one near the end.

"I'm with you, my Lord," he cried out madly. "Your light will be rekindled! We will be victorious!"

Harry watched until the pair disappeared.

"Shall we?" Winston asked. "Master Malfoy is just a little further."

The two continued on. In this part of the corridor, all the cells were empty and the rooms thirsted for more light. Harry was about to use his second vision, when, finally, they came to a loan cell lit by a handful of candles. The door was mostly solid except for a small window, no bigger than a man's hand, protected with three narrow iron bars. Winston pulled out his keys and slid them in the lock, turning it with a loud clank that rattled down the empty corridor.

"Yes, nothing but the best for our Lord Malfoy," said Winston, pulling the door ajar.

As the door opened, a tremendous stench rolled out and it took Harry a few moments to gather himself before he stepped inside. There was a plate of food at the door that looked as if it had not been touched. A rat was nibbling at its contents and Harry kicked the pest away. It squealed, landing into a scattering of dead rats, all in various stages of decomposition. Harry gasped just as another rat came to take its place. He was about to smash that one with his boot, when he saw Draco curled up on a pile of filthy straw, his clothes in rags and his appearance gaunt and muddy. Even with all the noise, it took Draco a moment to realize that someone had entered his cell.

When at last he noticed he had visitors, Harry thought for a moment there was a glimmer of happiness, but it faded instantly and the dull, sallow look appeared. Harry remembered it from last year when Draco was nearly destroyed by drugs, but there were no drugs this year. The face before him, barely able to lift itself from the fouled bedding of straw, was pure misery.

"The best?" Harry yelled, turning toward Winston. He reached for his wand, but stopped remembering that magic would not work here. "Leave us!"

"As you wish, Mr. Potter," said Winston with a bow. "I will be just down the corridor, attending to other prisoners if you need anything. Simply call my name when he's decided to agree to the exchange, or if perhaps," Winston licked his lips, "you need assistance persuading him."

"GO!" Harry snapped. Again Winston bowed, though Harry heard a sigh of disappointment, and shut the two in the cell. Harry heard the door lock with a clank and he turned back to Draco, dropping to one knee. The smell was worse here, much worse.

"Draco," whispered Harry, "what in Merlin's name have they done to you?"

"Harry?" Draco whispered back. He looked up and blinked. Slowly he lifted toward a seated position, eye to eye with Harry. He was as pale as Harry had ever seen him, and about his eyes there was something… in the darkness Harry could not tell. "Harry… my old friend."

"Draco, why are you letting them do this to you? Why not just do the exchange?" Draco swayed and Harry held him up by the shoulders.

"Knowledge is power, Harry," he said slowly, glancing toward the closed cell door. "I taught you that, remember?" Rolling his eyes, Harry nodded.

"I've… I've a little secret," Draco continued, "and I need you to help me keep it, see?" He put his hands up between Harry's supportive arms and on top of Harry's shoulders.

"I think I know," said Harry. "But Draco, why not—"

"Do you?" Draco asked. "Do you really?"

In a flash, Draco's hands were around Harry's throat. Harry moved to pull them off, but they were locked like a vice, slowly clamping down. It was impossible; how could so sickly a wizard have such strength?

"I tried to teach you, Harry," said Draco, lifting the much heavier Gryffindor from his knees and onto his feet. "But you wouldn't listen. Ignorance… ignorance spells destruction. It's time you learned your lesson."

They struggled, Draco clearly in control. Harry gasped for air and then he saw them in the flash of candlelight. The blonde's eyes… the pupils were slit. And then, when Draco smiled, Harry shuddered. A pearled, ivory tooth protruded from each corner of the Slytherin's mouth – the fangs of a vampire.

"You'll make a much better snack than a rat."


	23. Reunion

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 2****3 – Reunion**

A/N: After writing this chapter I increased the rating of the story (T). You will find, in subsequent chapters, more mature themes and more graphic language and violence. I attempt to keep it in context and it's my belief that it helps the story. Proceed appropriately.

* * *

In the darkness, the blood to his brain cut off by the steel grip of Draco Malfoy, Harry's sight began to fail, tunnelling in at the pale face of anger before him. He could hear only the squealing of rats, fighting over the pickings of their dead cousins, the raspy puffs of Draco's breath, and the ever quieting thud-thump of his own heart.

"I've wanted this in so many ways, Harry," hissed Draco through his gritted teeth, fully exposing his two bloodsucking fangs and sending a splattering of saliva across Harry's face. "So many ways."

"_Draco, please,"_ mouthed Harry silently, holding Draco's wrists, but unable to pull himself free.

"The taste of your—"

"_Help me."_

There was a flash of recognition in Draco's eyes that wasn't there a moment earlier. Suddenly, the grip released and both young men fell to the floor.

Heaving in huge gulps of air, Harry reached for his throat with one hand and pulled his wand with the other.

"Stupefy," he gasped. Nothing happened. Draco lay prone on the floor laughing sadly to himself. "STUPEFY!" Draco only laughed more, a laugh that quickly turned to a deep, rattling cough. Still coughing, Draco turned over onto all fours. The cough worsened and ended with a retching sound that resulted in Draco hacking up a ball of bloody sputum onto the mucky, straw strewn floor.

"That's not good," he said, wiping his mouth with his arm. Then he collapsed, falling face forward into the filth. The rats were on him at once. He couldn't, or wouldn't move. As much as Harry wanted to murder Malfoy, he wouldn't let him be ripped to pieces by rodents. He hurried over and began to kick them away.

"Get away from him!" he yelled. There were so many, Harry decided to call for help, muttering, "Winston," to himself. But before he could call out, Draco stopped him.

"No," he breathed. "No others."

"Draco, I…" He kicked another. "I can't stop them!"

"H-Help me up," Draco asked weakly, holding out one arm towards Harry as rats clawed at his already tattered clothes. Instinctively, Harry moved to help his fallen adversary, but hesitated. He was nearly destroyed by such a move before, by Grigor, Gabriella's father. Another rat began to claw at Draco's face.

"Harry," Draco whispered, falling back to the floor. A swarm of rats covered his head.

Finally, Harry could bear it no more and he lifted Draco away from the writhing swarm of fur and gnashing teeth. That's when Draco noticed the black onyx ring on Harry's finger. "P- Pravus," he stuttered, grabbing the hand that bore the ring in his own and gathering his strength as best he could.

"Focus… your mind," Draco breathed. "The ring… surely you must know. Command them."

Instantly, Harry felt warmth run from the joined hands and up his arm. For a moment, he heard, or felt, Draco's thoughts.

"Of course," Harry whispered, recalling the ability vampires had to control the minds of others. He took in a breath and concentrated on the swarm below.

Together, both young men began to reach out their minds, speaking to, instructing the rats below to leave at once. Harry could hear their voices cry out in hunger, but heard also an almost rhythmic command of Draco, telling them that there was danger, that they needed to flee for their lives. The scrum of rats stopped. One, then another, ran to a crack in the far wall. Soon, they began to fight each other to escape. Before long, Draco and Harry were alone; both sat back to the floor, exhausted. Draco, a skeletal shadow of the man he once was, held up Harry's hand in his own.

"I've heard the stories about this ring," he said with wonder. "I've seen pictures, but never dreamed…" He chuckled to himself, pulling the ring closer, trying to examine its blackness in the dim light. He looked at Harry. "You don't have a clue, do you?" Harry remained silent. "With your powers, Harry, there's nothing we couldn't accomplish together." There was a pause and he let go of Harry's hand.

"How the hell did _you_ get it?" Draco asked. The voice was suddenly smug, arrogant, but before Harry could answer, the wind spilled out of Draco's sails and he followed with a tone that was much more sorrowful. "Damn it to Hades, Harry. Why did you come? You should have left me here to rot. I just want it over with."

His head fell back against the rock wall. And Draco tried to pull in a breath of air that didn't quite seem to satisfy his thirst for oxygen. He gulped for another. In the light, Harry could see the traces and windings of tiny, blue veins just under the pale skin of Draco's face and neck. It was there he saw them—two small, faintly red scars not much more than an inch apart. Unable to resist, Harry touched them; they were real.

"I… I thought… maybe, it was hoax," he muttered, moving somewhat away from Draco, who noticed the motion and sadly closed his eyes. With a thud, Draco slightly banged his head against the wall. Harry noticed straight away the agony on the blonde's face and regretted his own fear. He remembered back when students at Hogwarts would avoid him as he walked down the corridors – the Heir of Slytherin. He moved closer.

"Did it hurt?"

"I told you… Father's a madman." Draco kept his eyes closed, reaching up his right hand to the two marks on his neck. His fingers were trembling as he slid them against the two tiny scars. His breathing was growing more noticeable. "'Immortality, Draco!' I refused.

"But while I slept… without my willingness…" Draco opened his eyes and looked at Harry. He gathered himself and provided his best Malfoyian drawl. "The finest vampire in all Britain turned me – an almost _Royal_ bloodline dating back to the age of Morgana. Isn't that special?" He coughed. "Father says I should be proud. By the next moon—" He coughed again.

"Merlin," Harry gasped. Nothing his Uncle Vernon had ever done came close to—

"No," Draco corrected. "I said Morgana. Merlin was a Muggle loving, son of a—"

"Draco, when?" Harry interrupted.

"Just before we came to the Ministry. I must admit, I wasn't in best form; I could hardly stand, but he didn't care. His mind was bent on you. Father half-hoped we'd meet, you and I. 'If you see the bastard, go for his throat, Draco! Suck him dry!' I told him I would, but I wouldn't… I couldn't." Draco laughed again, and this time the coughing that followed was more pronounced. When the spasm past, he drew in a deep breath of air. "And now… damn, I must look awful. I feel it."

"Why don't you tell that bastard of a father of yours to go to hell?" Harry spat. "You don't need him. You don't need any of them." It did not elicit the response he expected. In a great whirl, Draco pounced on top of him, grabbing his throat once again, pressing Harry's head against the stone wall, only this time the grip was weak and Harry grabbed Draco's wrists, easily pulling them away.

"Worry about _my_ father, when you have one of your own!" Draco cried, spitting into Harry's face. Draco's effort had drained him. His eyes were rolling in his head and it looked for a moment as if he might faint.

"My god, Draco, a stiff wind would blow you over." Draco began to chuckle. The chuckle grew to a laugh and he began to cough, falling off Harry and onto his side. Laugh-Cough-Laugh. Draco was obviously very ill and, perhaps, quite mad.

"You know what I mean," said Harry. The coughing stopped almost instantly and Draco crawled over to Harry, wheezing badly.

"Do I, Harry? Do I?" He moved closer, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've never really been straight with _me_, have you?" He began to smile, and the growing snicker turned to another spasm of coughs. When they subsided, he pulled his hand away from his lips and found it bloodied.

"What's happening to you?" Harry asked.

"I guess a vampire doesn't survive on rat blood alone," Draco answered, wiping his hand against the wall. "It took some doing, but I finally learned to command them to come to me. It helped, but I guess not enough." He fell to one elbow, looking up at Harry who was still seated against the wall. "I had hoped you'd come sooner."

"I just found out! Your father's been keeping me a bit busy lately," Harry said curtly, ignoring the fact that Mr. Weasley had refused to let him visit. "I had to protect Singehorn's lands."

"He attacked the mountain?" Draco asked in disbelief, his voice raspy from the coughing. Harry wondered if this was why Dakhil's voice sounded more like steel dragging across pavement. "He wouldn't be so foolish to move so soon."

"It wasn't your father," answered Harry. "It was Voldemort."

"WHA… WHAT?" Draco' wheezing was growing more noticeable, his thirst for air more unquenchable.

"Voldemort has been reborn; he took control of the nearest body – your father. There was another Horcrux; not just the cloak, something else. But then… you knew about the cloak all along, didn't you, Draco?" His breathing growing more laboured by the minute, Draco did not respond. "DIDN'T YOU, DRACO?"

"I tried… I tried… It- doesn't- matter. You'd never understand." Draco swallowed, but there was nothing in his mouth to swallow. He let go another heaving cough that sprayed blood everywhere. Draco looked at his hands and dropped them to his sides. "Fuck. I'm dying." Harry grabbed him by the shoulders.

"You can't die, damn you!" he cried. "They have Gabriella! YOU CAN'T DIE!" Draco looked up as if he was about to say something, then looked away shaking his head and collapsed.

"NO!" Harry grabbed Draco and once more pulled him to a seated position. Draco's head hung limply to one side, his eyes closed.

"I won't lose her." Harry pulled the sleeve of his sweater up and held his wrist in front of Draco's mouth.

"Drink!" he yelled. Draco did not respond. He grabbed the blonde by his hair and forced his mouth about Harry's flesh. "Drink, you goddamn vampire!" Deliberately, Harry slid one of Draco's fangs against his flesh, slicing the skin. The reaction was immediate, instinctive – Draco began to feed, grabbing Harry's arm with both his hands and pulling it tight against his lips.

The draughts were long and hard as Draco drunk deeply. It was only a matter of seconds before Harry felt the effects of the blood being drained from his body. He tried to pull his arm away, but Draco held fast. He pulled again, but could not escape. Finally, he clubbed Draco on the side of the head with his fist and yanked his arm away. There was a screech of anger that rang from Draco's bloody lips. He moved to pounce on his weakened foe, but stopped, gathering his wits. He pushed himself backwards, away from Harry as quickly as he could, crawling into the darkened corner.

Harry looked down at his bloodied arm. Unwilling to damage the sweater, he reached up and tore his undershirt and wrapped the shredded cloth about his wrist.

"Better?" Harry asked the figure that had disappeared into the shadows.

"Better," came the response. The voice, for the first time since Harry had arrived at the cell, sounded like the voice of Draco Malfoy. "You… are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah," answered Harry sarcastically. "Peaches and cream over here, mate."

"Sorry," Draco whispered, walking out of the shadows and this time helping Harry to his feet. "A pint goes a long way, a gallon… well, that's to die for."

"I'll mark that down."

"How did you know? You know… that you could…" He gestured to Harry's arm.

"Knowledge is power," snipped Harry. "Some of my best friends are vampires." Draco smiled and nodded.

"I was being kind of an idiot," said Draco, suddenly trying to make himself more presentable. He tried to smooth out his hair, not realizing that his hands were covered in blood and his hair was so covered in filth it looked more brunette than blonde. "You know… erm… uttering gibberish and all that rot. I… I wouldn't, erm…" He pointed at Harry's neck.

"Right. Speaking of knowledge," Harry cut in, "you should know that Blaise is better. They lifted the Imperious curse. It was Voldemort the whole time."

"That's… that's good news," said Draco, almost as if trying to convince himself of the fact. "Blaise is… important to me. He's been there for me in more ways than you can possibly imagine. He risked his life… for me." Harry nodded, knowingly. "But if Voldemort had a hand in his actions, it's possible…" Draco's face grew alarmed. "Tell me at once – what do you know of my father and Voldemort?"

Harry didn't much like the tone, but for the next few minutes, he explained all that had transpired since Draco had been imprisoned. As intrigued as Draco was about Harry's new found powers, he asked more questions about the joining of Voldemort and his father. He was particularly concerned that Blaise may have let slip certain information.

"He'll kill me if he's found out," said Draco, leaning against the wall.

"You don't know that," answered Harry only guessing at what Draco meant.

"Oh… and I suppose you do," drawled Draco. Then the blonde began to speak to himself. "Maybe not, if he's the only one that knows; he'll try to use it to his advantage somehow. But, if I'm an embarrassment… or if he thinks I've been disloyal… I'm dead."

"You're being overly dramatic."

"I saw him use the Imperious Curse on Bellatrix for forgetting to add two sugars to his tea!" He spun toward Harry. "Was that _overly dramatic_?" Draco began to pace, tapping his fingers together in front of his chest.

"Sorry I wouldn't make the exchange. They tried to take me out during the day," he said to Harry over his shoulder, kicking at the pile of dead rat carcasses. "That's why I wouldn't go. I haven't yet learned to withstand the sun's rays. I… I won't let anyone know what I've become." He paced some more. "If I do this, it'll have to be by night."

"_IF_ you do this?" bellowed Harry. "You'll do this or you're dead where you stand! I may not have a wand, but I can still kick your arse!"

"Do you think?" Draco asked, but more as if it was a question to himself. "That might work. What time is it now, Harry?"

"I don't know; not quite midnight, why? What are you going on about now?"

"It may be that the Dark Lord has found my father again, but he may have found someone more suitable to his needs. Someone that can get close enough to kill you."

"I don't need a reminder."

"Then stay vigilant. Trust no one."

"Does that include you?"

"Exactly! They may think that we are… friends. We can't let that happen. If there's even the slightest suggestion that…" Draco stepped over to Harry. "Hit me."

"Hit you?"

"You heard me. Hit me. It has to look good. I want your hands bloody and my face swollen. Everyone has to know that you hate me for putting your girl at risk. We may be under the sea, but word will get out… word always gets out." Harry just stared. "Go on, Harry, kick my arse! You know you always wanted to. Here's your chance."

"I'm not going to hit you, Draco. You may have had a little blood, but it's not enough for me to risk your life and I'm too damn tired."

"If you want your precious raven haired beauty to return to you, hit me!"

"There's got to be a better—" Draco reached back and belted Harry across the chin. The jolt sent stars flickering into Harry's vision. Harry fell to one knee and looked up at the Slytherin who now had his hands rolled into fists. He could taste the blood in his own mouth. "You bastard!"

Harry slammed his right fist into Draco's stomach, doubling him over like a folded lawn-chair. He then jabbed upwards, toward Draco's exposed face, snapping his head back with a sickening crack. Draco staggered backward as Harry stood up. There was blood streaming from Draco's nose.

"It's so much better than using a wand, don't you think, Harry? Flesh against flesh." He charged Harry and threw a punch that wildly missed. Again Harry caught him in the mid-section and then threw two punches that tossed Draco's head from one side to the other. A moment ago Harry didn't want to throw a punch. Now, he didn't want to stop.

Still bent over, Draco charged Harry again and this time caught him in his arms and threw him against the wall. The back of Harry's head slapped against the stone, drawing yet another trickle of red gold. Draco threw a punch that Harry just dipped away from and his hands crashed into the wall. With a yelp, the blonde reached up and began to claw at Harry's face and this time Harry could taste the blood on Draco's fingers. It was unnatural, almost sweet.

With his knee, Harry caught Draco between the legs and as he began to collapse, Harry bashed the back of his neck with both his fists curled together with a downward pounding. Draco was on his knees.

"Winston!" Harry cried. "Winston!"

Draco reached up and grabbed Harry by the waist of his pants and pulled him to the ground. He climbed upon him and began to strike madly at Harry's head. The door opened with a clank and a flash of red light filled the room, from where, Harry never saw. Draco was nearly lifted off the ground before he crumpled, unconscious at Harry's side.

"I'd kill the bloody bastard if I didn't need his sorry arse!" Harry yelled. "Drag him out of here!" Winston smiled as if enjoying a tasty desert.

"As you wish, Mr. Potter," he said, grabbing Malfoy by the back of his hair and dragging him along the ground. "Did he agree to the exchange then?"

"Do you hear him saying, no?" Harry sneered.

They made their way down the long and narrow corridor, Winston dragging Draco by his hair and Harry cursing Draco's name the whole way. Just as they were in the thick of the prisoners, Draco began to stir.

"Let go of me!" he yelled. "Let go of me!"

"Did you see what he did to my face?" Harry yelled. "Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch!" He kicked Malfoy soundly in the ribs. "You'll do the exchange, or I'll slice off your fingers, one-by-one! DO YOU HEAR ME?"

Winston just chuckled as he continued to drag Draco along.

"I'll kill you!" yelled Draco. "The first thing I'll do when I get back is hunt your arse down. I'll have your heart on a pike!"

"You do that!" Harry challenged and then spat at Draco. "I'll be waiting!"

The prisoners all began to jeer at Harry and cry out support for Draco. "Kill him, Master Malfoy! We're with you! In the Dark Lord's name! Kill Potter!"

It wasn't long before the three made it into the antechamber. No one said a word as Winston bound Draco's arms behind his back, cinching them particularly tight. Where James was, or Winston's wife for that matter, Harry did not know – they were no where to be seen. Winston offered Harry a cool towel for his face, but nothing more. Then he placed his hand against the door that led to the sea and uttered some sort of incantation. He reached over and took his keys off the hook and unlatched the door. When it opened, not a drop of water flowed into the antechamber. Harry punched Draco in the back.

"Get moving, slime. One false move and you can take a crash course in underwater drowning." Draco moved forward as the other two followed, Winston sealing the door behind them. When they reached the island, the stars were flickering brightly and in the night sky, approaching from the east, Ebyrth glowed.

"Oh my," said Winston. It was the first such tone he'd heard from the key keeper. "Do you see that star? Or is it a comet?"

"You see it?" asked Harry. It was the first time anyone other than a Centaur had professed such.

"It's like a glowing diamond, just like in the books," said Winston almost in a whisper. "They say it's what all this nastiness is about with the Centaurs. I don't much see why people care." This made Draco laugh which cost him another slap by Harry who had noticed that the marks on Draco's face were already healing.

"You know how to treat them, don't you Mr. Potter?" Winston asked. "I doubted at first, but I see now, you understand."

"The exchange?" Harry asked, ignoring the comment.

"Yes… yes…" said Winston, pulling a small glass orb from his pocket. "Here sir," he offered it to Harry. "It's a Portkey." Harry withdrew his hand.

"Portkey?" I don't want to go flying into Malfoy's minions. Winston laughed.

"No sir," he said with a chuckle, "nor do I. It's an exchange Portkey, sir. Only when both prisoners are holding the orb simultaneously, and only the two prisoners, will the exchange take place. "You can hand it to the boy, or stuff it in his face."

Harry looked at Draco. His face was swollen, one eye was clotted over, and he smelled worse than a troll. Then he realized, shoving the orb in Draco's mouth would add a nice touch upon delivery. While Winston wasn't looking, Harry offered and Draco nodded, opening his mouth. Harry shoved the ball in and noticed that the fangs had disappeared. He was about to whisper in Draco's ear when the Slytherin vanished in his arms. Harry looked around nervously.

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "Where is she? Where is—" There was a flash of white light and Gabriella appeared. She was in a seated position when she arrived, but then crumpled to the ground. Harry was at her side in an instant. Her eyes were shut, but she was breathing.

"Gabriella! Gab! Are you okay?" Harry called out, but there was no movement. "GAB!"

"Sir," said Winston, "it isn't safe here. You must return with her at once." Harry looked at him, puzzled. "Your key, sir."

Holding Gabriella in his arms, Harry pulled the white envelope out of his pocket and clutched the golden key inside. There was a _swoosh_, and he was gone.

Winston looked up once more at Ebyrth and turned back to the dungeons, shaking his head. As he continued to climb down, his keys jangled at his side, his fingers rubbing against their metal surface. He stopped once more, looking back at the icy, night sky and muttered, "I love it when two people hate each other so much."


	24. Nightmares

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 24 – ****Nightmares**

Four fairies fluttered over Gabriella's unconscious body, each empathically reflecting the state of her seven chakras. Alternating in colour and brightness, they were immediate visual indicators of both her physical and magical well being. In all the days Harry had been at St. Mungo's, more than he could now remember, he had only seen such fairies used in two ways: to monitor those soon to die, and to scrutinize those soon to be imprisoned. The fairies could sense when death was near, alerting family members to come to the bedside, but they could also sense a patient's desire to commit a criminal act before it actually happened, warning staff of any impending wrongdoing.

Gabriella had been released from the _Stasis_ spell almost immediately after Harry had arrived with her from Fengsle Isle. She was fine; at least, Harry thought she was. The only thing unusual was that she refused to let her mother, Soseh, fret over her. Despite her generally good health and well being, the Healers of St. Mungo's encouraged by Aurors from the Ministry poked and prodded her mercilessly, convinced she had been hexed or was under the control of an Imperius curse. Her mind was probed, her body scanned – all to no avail. She remembered nothing after having been apprehended just after leaving Cho and Anthony's apartment. That she would not tell the Aurors why she was in France to begin with, only fed the flames of their suspicions. Soseh was incensed that they were treating her daughter so poorly, while Harry wondered to what extremes Draco was being put to similar tests.

Gabriella had just been given a light sleeping draught to help her rest after the evening's _tortures_ had ended. Soseh kissed Harry's cheek and stormed out of the room, cursing in Armenian; he agreed with some of the more choice expletives and flopped down in one of the chairs to rest, if only for a moment. He had just closed his eyes and was beginning to drift off, when the door opened. It was Sirius. Harry straightened.

"Sirius?" Harry asked. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be—"

"How is she?" Sirius cut in. Harry slumped down, his head dropping back against the wall as he rubbed his face with his hands.

"Well, if she didn't hate the Ministry before she came to Britain, she certainly will now." Harry looked over at Gabriella as she lay on the bed. "She's yet to ask me to help get her out of here and she won't let her own mother near her. It's like she has something to prove. Almost as if she _wants_ them to test her; it's crazy!" Harry stood. "Soseh on the other hand." He shook his head. "If she could use a wand, she would have hexed half the staff back to the stone age. I'm still waiting for a dragon to show up outside the window." Sirius mustered half a smile.

Harry walked over to Gabriella's bedside, held her hand, and began to stroke it with his own. Even now, asleep with thoughts that wandered the world, she was proud, defiant, more capable than Harry could imagine – next to Molly Weasley, perhaps the strongest woman he had ever known. His hands began to tremble.

"You love her, don't you?" Sirius whispered, placing his arm about Harry's shoulders.

"I would die for her," Harry whispered back.

"Oh, Harry," said Sirius, squeezing his godson's shoulders, "you'd die for a lot of people. I heard what happened outside of the Burrow. You know, it's no good dying for someone if all you do is stand in front of a freight train."

"Sorry."

"Sorry?" Sirius snapped. "Sorry? Harry, you need to remember there are far more good reasons to live than there are to die, and I've been watching over one of them for you for the last week. You're no good to Jamie dead; you above all people should know that."

Harry's thoughts fell on his own son and what Voldemort intended to do with him, if he could be found. It was one thing to put his own life on the line, but now… now so many were in danger. The trembling of his hands moved up his arms and soon his whole body began to tremble; he turned and held Sirius in his arms, squeezing the cloth of his robes in his hands. With each passing day, it was becoming clearer to the Gryffindor what the ultimate fate of the prophecy would be, and the signs, as he read them, were not in his favour.

"Haven't you heard? I'm already dead; part of me at least," Harry choked into Sirius shoulder. "I'll never—"

"Don't talk like that! Don't ever think it!" Sirius held Harry by the shoulders and looked into his face. "It's those bloody ghosts! Yeah, I've heard them talking in the corridors of the castle. It's rubbish!" Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"Is it?" he whispered. "I wonder. I think maybe they know more than they let on." He turned back to look at Gabriella and tried to gather himself. "I… I guess we won't be making it to New York this year."

"No," said Sirius sadly. "Maybe summer."

"Yeah… maybe summer."

There was a long pause as they watched the fairies float about, each shining as brightly as ever. Finally, Harry looked back at Sirius.

"So… Jamie's okay then? And Cho?"

"And Anthony," added Sirius deliberately. "They're fine. They're all fine. Anthony returns to Hogwarts tonight. In fact, I better be going. I don't want them alone when he leaves. I just needed… I just needed to be sure you were okay. Are you?"

"Last year," Harry began, "just two rooms over… two rooms… Cho nearly died in my arms. There were no fairies then. I guess they figured there was no hope." He took in a deep breath. "But then… then she came back to me." Harry walked over and looked out the window. Snow was lightly falling onto the street below where Muggles past oblivious to the magic all around them. Harry's forehead pressed against the glass.

"I did love her… you know? At least I thought I did. But Cho and me… it just wasn't…" Harry shook his head and walked over to Gabriella's side, taking her once more by the hand as she slept. He stroked the long strands of black hair that ran down the side of her face, as the fairylight danced across her closed eyes. "Oh, Sirius… for her… for her I've walked through fire and been tempered by it. You're right, I love her. But I'd do far more than die for her… I'd kill."

Harry kissed her on the forehead, his own pounding from lack of sleep. He faced his godfather and pointed toward the window.

"He's out there, searching for them now," Harry whispered. "He won't rest till he's found them, and I won't rest until I've found him. It won't end until one of us dies."

"And it's NOT going to be you!"

Harry looked down at his hands and then back to Sirius. The trembling had stopped.

"No. No it's not."

"Good." Sirius started for the door, touched the handle and then turned around.

"Harry, you haven't told her, have you? Where they are?"

"No, but she asked… more than once."

"I knew she would. You want to tell her, don't you?" Harry shook his head, no, but looked away. "Liar," Sirius said with a smile. "Harry, I don't need to tell you how imperative it is for the Secret Keeper to keep the secret. There are only the five of us that now know, and, until we get a handle on where Voldemort is, you can't tell a soul. No one, do you understand? Return to Hogwarts, watch and wait, but tell no one, not even Ron or Hermione – not even Dumbledore.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"I KNOW! I won't let it happen again!"

"Then you're a better man than me," said Sirius with a look of pride in his eyes. "And my work here is done." Once more he started for the door only to stop again. This time he did not turn back toward Harry, but instead spoke to the closed door, his hand lightly touching against the wood. "You know I love you, don't you?"

"I love you more."

Harry did not see the smile appear and broaden across Sirius' face as he opened and left the hospital room. Nor did Sirius see the smile on Harry. Neither needed to, for both already knew. As the door clicked shut, Gabriella began to stir behind Harry.

It began with a mutter, and then her hand began to shake. Soon her whole body was convulsing. One of the fairies flashed from blue to green; it bore a startled expression upon its face. As the bed shook violently, Gabriella's mutter turned to a moan, the moan to a scream, and the scream became unearthly.

"_NOOOOOOOO!"_ The blood curdling cry pierced Harry's ears as the door swung open and the Healer ran in. Gabriella sat bolt upright and screamed for help. The Healer pulled her wand and a yellow light began to bathe Gabriella's open but blank eyes. It had no effect. Nothing worked until Harry grabbed her in his arms and tried to calm her.

"_Shhh,"_ he whispered. "I'm here. I'm always here. It's okay; you're safe."

Gabriella began to come out of the nightmare.

"H-Harry?" she breathed. "Harry. Oh, praise Asha." She grabbed him in her own arms.

"What was it, Ms. Darbinyan?" asked the Healer. "What were you screaming about?"

Gabriella looked up at the Healer, confused. The trembling was gone and her eyes clear.

"Screaming? I wasn't screaming," she said indignantly. "I'm fine. Why? What's the matter?"

"Gab, baby," Harry said gently, "you were having a nightmare. You were crying out."

"Nightmare?" asked Gabriella incredulously. "I just now woke up. I feel fine… really." She smiled as if nothing had happened.

"Curious," muttered the Healer. She began to scan Gabriella once again with her wand. Harry noticed that the fairy that had flashed a bright, pale green was once again a beautiful, deep, cobalt blue. "The Death Eaters have clearly done something to her, but what? Perhaps more tests are in order. I think—"

"How do you know it's not from something _you_ people have been doing?" spat Harry angrily. "I'd be screaming too after some of the things you've done to her."

The Healer nodded dispassionately, conceding the point.

"True. That is possible, but we really should examine—"

"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT! Or _you'll_ be screaming in three seconds!" Harry pulled his wand. "TWO!" The healer darted for the door. "ONE!" She was gone. Gabriella began to laugh, oblivious to the tension of the situation, as if she'd just woken during a summer cruise on the Mediterranean, needing a bit more suntan lotion.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" She laughed again, covering her mouth with her hand.

"You… you don't remember anything, do you?" Harry asked.

"Remember what?"

"They were turning your brain inside out three hours ago!"

"No."

Harry began to pace the room. "I have to get you out of here."

"Don't be silly!" Gabriella exclaimed. "They won't let me return to Hogwarts if they don't think I'm… well, me."

"Damn it, Gabriella, you're not you! Something's not right. You were fine when you arrived, but now… if they've hurt you… so help me I'll—"

Soseh burst into the room, waving a parchment in her hands.

"You are free!" she yelled. "Put on your clothes. We leave, now!"

"Mama, I can't—"

"You can. You will. The Minister has signed the papers. Now gather your clothes." Gabriella obliged and got of bed as if nothing had happened.

It took less than an hour for Harry to escort Gabriella back to Hogwarts. She had insisted that her mother not come along, which hurt Soseh somewhat, but Gabriella would not sway from her position. She demanded that she be seen as strong when she returned to school and having a mother hold her hand as she entered the front doors would not convey that impression. Finally, Soseh agreed, but before she had a chance to kiss her daughter goodbye, Gabriella took the Portkey that transported her and Harry to the front of Hogwarts. Harry scolded her for treating her mother so poorly, but she didn't seem to care.

Professor Dumbledore greeted them at the castle steps and invited them into the Great Hall to tea. He was particularly interested in Harry's story of the battle on Singehorn's mountain. He was not the only one. A number of students had already arrived; some had stayed over the holiday. Most of the others would return tomorrow on the Hogwarts Express. The white-haired wizard looked tired, but his eyes were clear and as blue as ever. He didn't ask any real questions, but instead lamented that the holiday decorations would be taken down in the morning.

"All things must come to an end," he said with a sad smile, and then took another sip of tea. "But even after the decorations have been put away into their boxes, the spirit of Christmas lives on in each of us. Don't you think, Harry?" For an instant, Harry caught a glimpse of blue from the corner of Dumbledore's eye, but the aged wizard looked away. Harry nodded, but was feeling the furthest he'd been from Christmas cheer since his days with the Dursleys.

That night, they all went to bed early. It would be the last such night. Classes began the year in earnest. Homework was worse than ever and everyone was complaining about the burdensome workload. Harry found himself spending more time with Ron than with Gabriella. Since returning, she was somewhat smothering when they were together – constantly trying to get Harry alone, asking dozens of questions, and reminding him of Rita Skeeter. At first, Harry thought she was just extremely curious about what had happened since she was under the Death Eaters' S_tasis_ spell. But those types of questions ended a few days ago and now they were growing more personal, probing for information about Harry's friends and family.

"I'm tellin' you mate," said Ron as the two made their way back from the library, "she wants a _ring around her finger_." He sang the last part as he swirled one finger about the ring finger on his left hand. "Valentines is just around the corner!" Harry just shrugged, letting out a long sigh.

"Maybe."

It was late and he was tired, wondering why in Merlin's name he decided to return to Hogwarts. It was bad enough that he had to prepare for his NEWTS, but he also had to finish up last semester's work as well, while trying to follow the battles going on around the world in hope on picking up on Voldemort's whereabouts. What little spare time he had on evenings and every Saturday was spent training with Ronan and the other Centaurs of the Forbidden Forest. Quidditch practice was squeezed in on Sundays and Ron managed practices in the afternoons. As the weeks passed, it was growing more and more taxing, and he was thankful that no matter how grumpy and upset he could get, Ron seemed to be feeling worse. Not only did he have nearly everything Harry had on his plate, but he also had something far worse – a wedding to plan.

"I swear on Morgana's grave, Harry, if she asks me 'Pink or mauve?' one more time, I'm going to bloody explode." Ron let out a low groan and Harry patted his friend's back.

"Just warn me, okay?" requested Harry with a smile.

They were commiserating as they dragged their way back to Gryffindor Tower when someone called from behind.

"Harry!"

Harry looked back down the corridor to find, much to his surprise, Tracey Davis running towards him. Tracey had become close friends with Gabriella over the last year and she was, for Harry's Knut, one of the better Slytherins he knew. Her face was flush and she was clearly out of breath, having just climbed the staircases from the dungeons. She ran up to Harry and Ron, and then took Harry by the arm.

"It's happening again. Come, quick."

Harry didn't need to be told twice; he knew. They had talked about it just after they started the new year and Harry had asked that Tracey watch Gabriella in case the symptoms reappeared. The three students began to run down the steps and, as one staircase began to slide into position, Tracey finally had a moment to catch her breath and explain.

"She fell asleep reading her Potions book. She's been working so hard – making up for last semester. I had just put a blanket about her shoulders, when I heard it. At first, it was just a whimper. I thought it was just a little bad dream, but it kept getting worse and worse. She began to scream, then she started to howl your name and now she won't stop. It's like she's locked in a trance, she can't see anyone, but keeps screaming your name."

Within minutes Harry, Ron and Tracey were climbing down into the girls' dormitory. Harry could hear the screams.

"Blimey!" exclaimed Ron as they pushed open the door to the room.

When they walked in, they found Millicent Bulstrode and another female Slytherin casting silencing spells, but they were having no effect. Just seeing someone point a wand at Gabriella in that way irritated Harry and, as he pushed them aside, he expelled both their wands with the wave of his hand.

"Get out!" he yelled.

"You can't tell me—"

"GET OUT!"

Both of them left, Millicent casting him a nasty stare. If she had glared at Harry a moment longer, she would have hopped out of the room as a toad. Gabriella howled again and Harry came to her side and dropped to his knees.

He grabbed her trembling hands in his and called her name. There was an immediate look of recognition in Gabriella's eyes. The distance cleared and they focused back to the here and now. She grabbed Harry and pulled him close. The trembling stopped. The screaming stopped. Then the most obscure thing happened: she yawned. She let go of Harry's hands, stretch out her arms as if rising from a long slumber and… yawned.

"Harry?" she asked curiously. "What are _you_ doing here? Don't you know what trouble you'll get into?" Her eyes began to dart around, seeing Tracey and wondering what she'd say. Then she saw the other boy in her dorm. "Ron?" she asked.

"Hi," he said meekly and waved. His eyes were fixed on a lace nightgown that was draped across Tracey's bed – dark green, but sheer enough to show the white sheets beneath. "Erm…."

"You were screaming, Gabriella," said Harry, taking her by the hand. "They couldn't get you to stop."

"Don't be silly," said Gabriella. "I only just now fell asleep."

"What he says is true, Gab," said Tracey. "It's been almost thirty minutes. The whole dorm knows." Gabriella stood up, a bit indignant.

"This is just ridiculous. I was just taking a nap! I should know if—"

"If it was just a nap," interrupted Ron, "why are you dripping wet?"

Gabriella looked down at her own robes. She was sweaty; not just a little glow about the eyes, but drenched through her robes as if she'd just run a marathon. When she looked down and recognized just how wet she was, she finally had to admit that something happened, that she was somehow not herself. The realization coupled quickly to a sense of fear.

"What… What's happening to me?" Her voice quivered, her hands pulling the wet robes from her body. She tossed them at Ron who tried to look away. She turned to Tracey. "I screamed?"

"It's the damn Ministry!" Harry spat. He reached behind the curtains that hung over Gabriella's bed and his hand reappeared with a shower robe. He draped it across her shoulder and Ron wondered how Harry knew that the robe was—

"They should have left well enough alone," snapped Harry. "They're all a bunch of sycophantic, sadistic pigs."

"Hey!" snapped Ron. "That's not called for. The Ministry has been doing all it can to protect us from the Death Eaters!"

"Protect us?" Harry exclaimed as he stepped forward. "Are you serious?"

Ron stepped forward to meet him chest-to-chest. "Are you saying different?"

"Look," cut in Gabriella, "we're all a bit tired. I'll be all right. I didn't mean to worry you guys. I'll go see Madame Pomfrey in the morning. Maybe she can give me a sleeping draught. Why don't you two go to bed?" She turned Harry away from Ron and kissed him on the cheek.

If only that had settled things, but it hadn't. The two Gryffindors argued with each other all the way up the staircases to the tower. After each of his invectives against the Ministry, Harry kept saying, "… which has nothing to do with your father being the Minister." The repetitive turn of phrase only made Ron angrier. He accused Harry of being "ignorant" and "growing up Muggle", which only flared Harry's concerns about how Ron felt toward other races. By the time they were at the Portrait of the Fat Lady, they were nearly at blows.

"_Godric's__…"_

"… _Goblet!"_

"My… don't you two seem angry," she said drowsily, opening the portrait.

"SHUT UP!" they howled in unison.

They didn't speak another word the rest of the night, and neither slept well. Both heard the other tossing and turning, muttering this or that, replaying the argument in their minds. Neville finally told them to shut up, and they did. Thankfully, the next morning was Saturday. At breakfast, Hermione didn't even ask why the two weren't speaking to each other. Harry, glad that he had training with Ronan, left the Great Hall as soon as he was finished eating. He was headed down the stone steps of the castle toward the forest when Gabriella came out from behind a pillar and grabbed him by the arm.

"Hi, handsome," she said with a smile and kissed him with a peck. She hadn't mentioned that she would meet him, and he didn't feel much like talking. Still, it wasn't an altogether unpleasant surprise. It was the first time they'd been truly alone since they both returned to Hogwarts and he sure didn't feel like being with Ron.

"Hi," he replied, but not with much exuberance.

"Don't tell me," she said, holding one hand against his face. "You fought all night with Ron."

"Wow… you're psychic," he said dully, rolling his eyes in their sockets. She pinched his side.

"It doesn't take a psychic to know when you two are squabbling. It's like you were an old married couple." She smiled. "Hermione and I don't have anything to worry about, do we?" Harry smiled in return and kissed her hard on the lips.

"Hey Harry!"

Harry pulled away, looked up and saw Patrick poking his head out a window from the fourth floor.

"What is it?" Harry called.

"McGonagall says Dumbledore's lookin' fer yeh!"

"Come on," whispered Gabriella. "Can't the old coot give us five minutes alone?"

"But—"

"Come on."

Harry craned his neck and looked up at Patrick. He was so small against the enormous castle walls.

"Later!" called Harry.

"She seemed teh think it was—"

"LATER!" Harry yelled with a scolding tone. He took Gabriella's hand and started across the grass to the Forbidden Forest. "Old coot? Are you serious?" Gabriella just chuckled as the walked along. The sun was trying to melt the last snow, but the air was still cold and she pulled close to Harry.

"Have you seen Madame Pomfrey?" he asked absentmindedly. His mind was still back at the castle, pondering the fact that he had been rather nasty to Patrick since the start of the new year. With James still at St. Mungo's, Harry's fellow orphan was lost. Nobody would speak to him and part of Harry didn't much care. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself. Every time he saw the boy he grew angry, so Harry just tried to avoid him completely. He shook his head in disgust at his own actions and started back toward the castle – it was time to make amends, to apologise to Patrick and set things straight. Gabriella grabbed his arm.

"Er… Yes, I saw Madame Guérir this morning," she said, coaxing Harry along their original path. "She's quite capable. She gave me a potion to try at bed time."

"Good," Harry said, nodding his head as if trying to convince himself that that was sufficient. "Good."

"Oooh, look!" She pointed her finger at some large animal tracks in the snow that traced a path leading to the forest. "What are those?"

"That's a… that's a Gytrash!" Harry said with surprise, losing all thought of Patrick. A year ago, he would never have been able to distinguish the track, but learning the life of the forest was part of his training with the Centaurs. Now he knew every creature that roamed the dark woods, and using the powers of the onyx ring that wrapped his finger he was slowly learning to communicate with them. "I've seen them in the forest, but never this close to the castle. By the arrow's point, what would a Gytrash be doing here?"

"I don't know," whispered Gabriella, her voice concerned. She didn't much feel like following the tracks that disappeared as they wove their way into the forest, but she didn't want Harry to return to the castle now that she finally had him alone.

"Shall we… shall we see?" she muttered, vexed.

She walked with him about two-thirds of the way to the forest and stopped. Harry sensed her apprehension and knew what it was. She had dreamed, after all, that a Centaur arrow had pierced her back. Gabriella appeared conflicted – part of her wanted to go, but the other part refused to take another step.

"You could go with me, you know," he said softly. "Then you'd see, you'd know… the Gytrash… even the Centaurs… they won't hurt you." Gabriella mustered a smile.

"I'll… er… I'll meet you here at lunchtime. You will be back for lunch?"

"Yes," answered Harry, starting toward the forest. Gabriella mustered a deep breath and walked with him, still holding him by the waist. Harry rubbed his forehead; he was tired. "I told Ronan that I had to study. He doesn't see the point and frankly I'm beginning to wonder myself. When I train, I forget half the stuff from class, and when I study, I forget half the stuff from training. I'm no good to anybody the way I am."

"You're good to me, baby," Gabriella said, following Harry to the wood's edge, out of sight of the castle walls and Hagrid's hut. She slid her hand down his side and Harry could feel a penetrating, fiery warmth – a heat that would burn anyone, anyone but a member of the Votary. To Harry, it was a tickling, sensual sensation and as it ran up the inside of his spine the feeling was hypnotic. He continued, unsteadily, to move in among the trees.

"I was thinking," she said soft and low. "Maybe tomorrow we could sneak away and visit Cho and Jamie. You know, just to see how they're doing. I'm sure they miss you."

"I've… I've told you a… a dozen times… I, er… I don't know where…" Harry shook his head trying to clear the cobwebs. He couldn't think straight. He leaned against a large tree a few yards into the forest. In the seclusion, Gabriella slid her hand downward.

"Don't you miss your boy, Harry?"

"S-Sure." Harry swallowed. The heat was intense, oscillating between pleasure and the edge of pain. "Maybe we could… _ohh,_" Harry groaned and his breaths quickened.

"Where are they?" whispered Gabriella.

"You… you know…"

Gabriella said nothing, but moved closer, pressing her body against Harry's. His back against a large tree, he could smell its wood smoulder. The tree, unsettled by the sensation, began to shudder and Harry moaned again.

"Last summer… Greece… at—" There was a snap, perhaps a small twig breaking, somewhere in the distance, barely noticeable. He didn't care, but Gabriella did. Her muscles tightened.

"Tell me… now!" she spat impatiently. The voice was contorted, but the contortion only partially pulled Harry from his trance.

"Tomorrow… I'll show you," he said with a smile, reaching down to kiss her. Gabriella pulled away. "No! Don't stop!" Harry pleaded, holding her by the wrist. "Tomorrow…" Gabriella raised her other hand as if to strike him, but Harry was oblivious. "…together we can go to S—"

_THWANG!_

Gabriella let out a scream as a Centaur arrow pierced her hand and pinned it to the tree next to Harry's head. It was a high, cold scream. She spun toward her attacker and her spell over Harry washed away.

"YOU FILTH!" she bellowed to the forest, but before she could reach her wand with her good hand, another arrow pierced it. Now both hands were held fast to the large trunk. The tree moaned, irritated that it had been pricked.

Suddenly, Harry became aware what was happening, at least partially. Nearly a hundred paces away, barely visible through the dense forest, stood Ronan, bow in hand. He was preparing another arrow. Even to the most accomplished wizard, the speed at which arrow met bow would be indiscernible. A Centaur could fire a dozen arrows in less than a second. The third was already on its way, headed straight for Gabriella's heart.

"NO!" Harry cried. He watched as the arrow flew toward his girlfriend and with a movement taught him by the Centaurs themselves he guided its point to miss the intended target. It struck the tree with a thump – it moaned again and the earth began to shake.

"Help me, Harry" whimpered Gabriella, her voice as sweet and vulnerable as ever. "I told you! They're going to kill me! Strike him down!"

Another arrow flew through the air, and again Harry deflected it.

"Stand away, Harry Potter!" yelled Ronan. "Can you not see the beast next to you?"

Harry turned to look at Gabriella. The tree trembled as its sap mixed with the blood that dripped from her palms while she struggled to get free. It was hopeless; the enchanted arrows would never release their prey.

"They're mad, Harry! Help me," she pleaded.

"Not with your _eyes_, wizard!"

Harry stepped back and closed his eyes, reaching out first toward the Centaur – a brilliant white camouflaged in a field of living light, but still noticeable to Harry's, now trained, inner eye. The Centaur had stayed his hand; he did not nock the arrow, but instead held it at the ready.

"Hurry!" called Ronan, moving closer, but slowly.

"Don't listen to him, Harry. Please… I don't want to die! Strike! Strike him now!"

Harry turned his mind toward Gabriella. Instantly, his heart sank to the utter depths of despair. There, before him, was an aura of green, glowing fierce and strong, but the drips of blood falling to the forest floor were blue, a glowing cobalt blue… Gabriella's blue. As for the green, Harry had seen it twice already. The green was easy; it had a sickening pallor all its own, and a visible stench that could only belong to Voldemort.

"I told you! Now, stand aside!"

Harry's resolve faltered.

Ronan let fly another arrow.


	25. The Fealty of Fire

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 25 – ****The Fealty of Fire**

~~~***~~~

The great wizard, Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it." Muggles measure it by the number of ticks on the face of a clock. Wizards record its passing as they watch grains of sand fall to the bottom of a glass. Centaurs simply gaze at the sky, surveying the sun and stars as they pass overhead, and yet they, more than all of God's other creations, control time's power over their lives.

The arrow had left its bow; Ronan had called the warning. Harry had but to stand aside and the arrow would most certainly pierce Gabriella's heart, killing her instantly. Would Voldemort die with her? Centaur magic is deep and Harry had learned but a small portion of Ronan's wisdom, but Harry could not bring himself to believe that a single arrow, however magical, could destroy such evil. Certainly the Dark Lord would be forced to leave her corpse to search for another victim to possess. Perhaps such a plan was already accounted for and the unfortunate Death Eater was near at hand, waiting for just such a contingency.

Was this the vision that Gabriella had so long feared? And was Gabriella, like her mother 'always right'? As these fleeting thoughts passed through Harry's mind, the arrow drew ever closer. He could sense its approach and the time consumed in indecision had cost him dearly. There was now no chance, even with his training, to slow down time fast enough and still turn to deflect the arrow now coming toward his back. No, Harry had time only to stand aside… _stand aside_. Ronan's words echoed in Harry's ears as Gabriella's eyes looked up at him, pleading for mercy… a falsehood Harry now knew. He sensed the red smouldering beneath the pools of black.

In this darkest moment, when all time was lost, Harry grinned back at his adversary. This time _was_ a very good one – a time to live, a time to die. He did not step aside; he stepped forward _toward_ Gabriella, toward the darkness that held her in its will and, like the darkness, Harry embraced her and held her tight. There was no time for words; the arrow struck before Voldemort could even register Harry's action. Harry could feel the tip pierce his back, just below the right shoulder blade and sensed it ripping his lung tissue as it passed through his body. It clipped a rib just below his right breast and deflected upward. Save for that, the arrow would have struck Gabriella in the heart. Instead, it hit high, missing her vital organ, moving though her lung as it did Harry's and then striking the tree behind. They were now _both_ pinned together like two rag dolls poked with push pins.

Harry tried to take in a breath and a sharp, stabbing pain told him that each such attempt would become more difficult. The face before him contorted into an evil grin.

"I'm not - dead, Harry," she wheezed, her throat whistling with each hard won gasp for air. "But you – will – be. Both of – you. Before you – die, tell me… where – is – the boy? Make it easy on – me, and I'll make it – easy on – our – Jamie. Greece? Where?" Gabriella placed her forehead against Harry's face and a searing pain plunged into Harry's skull. Voldemort was probing for the answer. Having practiced often with Ron, Harry had learned to parry the thrusts of a Legilimens, but he could not withstand the likes of Voldemort forever. Even as Ronan closed from behind, Harry grabbed Gabriella's head and pulled it away from his.

"Do you like… _argh_… fire, Tom?" Harry asked with blazing green eyes.

"Are you mad!" yelled Ronan. Harry could hear the Centaur approach. He could feel the Centaur grasp the feathered tip of the arrow now pinning Harry to Gabriella. He was going to release its clenching charms when Harry stopped him.

"_STAY BACK!"_ Harry commanded with tremendous effort.

"But—" Ronan didn't get a chance to finish. Flames erupted from Harry's right arm, forcing the Centaur to retreat.

"A little heat… Tom?" Harry asked again. The look in Gabriella's eyes was confused. _"Incendio Forté!"_ Harry whispered with gritted teeth. The flame exploded, engulfing them both in fire. The tree behind Gabriella ignited and flames raced up its thick trunk. It cried out shaking the ground worse than ever. The temperature rose higher and higher as Harry concentrated its energy at the centre of Gabriella's being. Her face was panicked, but Harry's was focused and stern. She, as Harry, knew the ways of the Votary, but Voldemort did not and he had no way of casting a shield charm.

"Stay with me, baby," whispered Harry, hoping that some part of Gabriella knew what was happening, could fight against its captor. Blistering, searing flame, and finally Voldemort relented. Harry knew that look of anger, like a spoiled child being refused a second ice cream for desert. Her scream was pitched high and the voice was cold. Harry watched as the green left Gabriella's body, rising upward with the curling smoke and lapping flames. Ronan shot arrows at the evil mist, but they had no effect. As for the arrows pinning Harry and Gabriella to the tree, they ignited and turned to black ash. At once the two fell to the ground.

Gabriella began to cough, short, sharp, shallow breaths. Blood was running freely from her wound. It had soaked her blouse and was dripping onto the forest floor. Harry went to move toward her, but the sharp pain in his chest held him in place; he could taste the blood that had worked its way up into his mouth. Ronan was upon them.

"You fool," he snapped, gathering leaves and pressing them against Gabriella's chest. Gabriella continued to cough, but the breaths were shorter and shallower. The Centaur cursed. "Use your powers boy," he demanded, "before she dies."

Harry pulled his wand and cast a spell to stop the bleeding, it helped, but not much. The Centaur arrow was enchanted to defeat such magic.

"I… I can't," said Harry, his voice hollow.

"The stone you told me of," insisted Ronan. "Use the stone." Harry's soul grew cold.

"Not… possible." Harry could sense his vision narrowing. He looked down and watched as, with each heartbeat, another spurt of blood dribbled out his chest. Ronan placed an herbal compact similar to Gabriella's against Harry's wound and cursed again.

"She'll die. You'll both die!" cried Ronan. For the first, time Harry saw the Centaur panicked. But, as always, Ronan was right. If they didn't do something soon, they both would surely die. _How could it end like this? Had she been right all along?_

Harry just shook his head. He'd sworn an oath. He'd sat with the dragon Singehorn himself and sworn an oath. He would not break it; not when Gabriella had rejected his offers to use the stone to heal her mother and her dieing father the year before.

"It… it is…" Harry spat out the blood pooling in his mouth. "…forbidden."

His vision finally failed. His thoughts turned to Singehorn. The dragon had always told him that he could call on him if ever he were in trouble. It was an alliance, a blood oath, and now, more than ever, Harry was in need. He turned his mind to the dragon and suddenly the cool, moist air of the Forbidden Forest was parched… dry. Harry opened his eyes and the sands of a vast desert opened up before him.

The large hand of a black man reached down and took Harry's hand in his own. The face of the usually jovial figure was stern, almost angry, but the anger was not directed at Harry. Of this, he was sure. Singehorn, the man, pulled Harry to his feet. There was no forest, no pain, no blood. Harry, Primate of the Votary, stood in red robes before his master.

"I sense the Phantom's presence," said Singehorn with concern.

"Gabriella," Harry whispered, "he took her." There was a moment's pause as Singehorn's face drew in and his eyes looked outward, but then he shook his head in disagreement.

"No," he said. "She is in pain, but there is no such evil." Harry grew impatient.

"There's no time for this. We must hurry." Singehorn laughed a deep, throaty laugh that shook the ground and made Harry angry. "She's dying!" he cried. Singehorn held Harry's chin in his massive hand. The calluses scratched as the man pulled Harry's eyes upward to meet his fiery yellow. There was a smile across his mouth, the faintest hint of fang.

"You both are dying, Harry. But there is no hurry." He let go of Harry's chin and stroked his own in thought. "Here," he held out his hands and showcased the desolate countryside, "here we have all the time in the world. In here," Singehorn tapped the side of his head, "the mind processes millions of thoughts a second… even in the mind of a wizard. It's amazing really. And in here, time stands still. You can dream a lifetime in the blink of an eye. Time here, Harry, has no meaning." Singehorn crossed his arms and regarded Harry carefully. Again he shook his head and then, smiling, patted Harry on the shoulder.

"Soseh is quite the woman. She's never wrong," Singehorn whispered. "I did not think it possible." He stepped closer to Harry and put his arm upon his shoulders. "I could not be more proud as I am at this very moment. Darkness covers the earth, but there is one shining light that will shatter its shade. I doubted. I doubt no more. Though you are young and you will stumble, I am now convinced that your path will end in light." Singehorn grabbed Harry's left hand and held it up, moving the ring finger that bore the ring of onyx closer to Harry's face.

"Life, Harry, is all around us. Sometimes, even the greatest and most powerful must summon the smallest and least consequential to their aide. Most are too arrogant, others too stupid to realize the energy and power that permeates the world around. The ring, Harry, lets you speak with any beast, any creature. If you but ask, they will do your bidding." Singehorn bent low to one knee, grimacing as he did so.

"Your body has fallen in a ring of fire; all about you is dead. But, beneath the ashen loam upon which you lay, a creature survives, millions of them now energized by the heat of your flame. The light of life erupts from the ground beneath you; use your gifts and you will see. Call to them; ask them to help Gabriella, to help you both. Some will not survive, but if you ask, they will oblige, for we all stand against the dark. Blessings upon you my son, and also upon the House of Hayk."

"The House of—?"

The scene snapped back to the forest and Harry was instantly aware of the sharp pain in his chest. Gabriella's coughs had stopped and been replaced by a thin, whistling pant.

"… both die!" cried Ronan.

"It… it is…" Harry spat out the blood pooling in his mouth. "…forbidden." His vision failed, but his mind's eye turned downward as Singehorn had said and there they were – specks of glowing dust, just below the scorched surface – a sea of microscopic life. Harry made a fist and clutched the ring to his chest, focussing now on the life beneath him.

"Help us," he whispered, not really knowing what to expect. "Please, help - us." He coughed and another splat of blood fell to the ground. And then, from out of the ether, Harry heard the reply of the tiniest of voices from the largest of crowds.

"_Your wounds are too high!" _it called._ "Come down to us."_

"Ronan," Harry breathed, "lay her… flat against the earth."

"But—"

"Do it!" A streak of pain shot through Harry's chest. "If we die, we die here, but don't… don't move us until the stars rise."

Ronan obliged and rolled Gabriella onto her back. Harry, as well, turned upon his back. For a moment, he could see again and he gazed up at the morning sky. He could feel the blood dripping from his back as a light, white cloud drifted overhead. It was the shape of a dog and Harry smiled, coughing again as blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and into his ear.

"A Grim," he groaned with a smile, pointing one finger upward to the sky. His body was growing colder… colder… The last thing he remembered was the thin wisp of a voice calling to its friends.

"_In here__!"_

~ x ~ x ~

Drip.

An icicle clung to a large pine tree with great branches that stretched over the path of a tiny brook. Drip. A single drop of water fell from the frozen crystal and landed on the water flowing gently below. Just one drop, among many that filled the tiny brook on its way to who knew where – Harry decided to see. He'd only walked perhaps a hundred metres when the brook joined another somewhat larger creek. There was a tiny waterfall that cascaded over a handful of large rocks. Harry jumped down and continued to follow the water's path. The air grew damper and the fertile earth of the forest floor filled his nostrils with a rich earthy aroma of life and decay.

Eventually the tiny creek grew, as more brooks and tiny rivulets joined it. It matured into a small stream and as he followed its winding path, it continued to expand. Harry didn't know how many hours, how many days, how many lifetimes he walked until the stream became a river with rushing rapids and great still pools. Tirelessly, he followed until the river emptied out into a great ocean that extended beneath an azure blue sky as far as the eye could see. He walked along the sandy shore, looking for others, but none were to be found. The air here was also rich with life and decay, only the salty sea air made the aroma more pungent and biting, filled with greater possibilities and more ferocious consequences.

He walked onto an outcropping of rocks and looked for life in the sheltered tide pools. A great wave careened against the rocks sending white spray and foam high into the air and soaking him from head to toe. The water was cold, but inside he was warm. He wiped his dripping face with his hands and stopped. Holding out his hands in front of his face he observed a single drop of water run down his finger and he wondered if it might not have been the same drop that had started him on this journey. Drip. So tiny, so inconsequential in its own right, but when joined with others… he gazed out across the ocean and another wave crashed violently into the rocks only this time the surge knocked Harry from his feet and he fell headlong into the water. Drip.

Harry woke with a start, his eyes opening upon the ceiling above him. The flicker of firelight danced across a thatched wood woven of stick and branches – native plants he now recognized as common to the Forbidden Forest. Outside the plant-covered walls, it was raining steadily and as the smell of the damp, loamy earth filled his nostrils, his dream haunted him. An instant later his memories rushed back and his hand shot toward his chest to feel for the hole left by the arrow that had run him through, but his fingers found only smooth, flat flesh. He sat up and recognized at once, though he'd never been to their encampment before, that this was a Centaur hut. A flash of anger flamed briefly through his body and then he looked for Gabriella. The hut was empty and, when Harry tried to stand from the low mat upon which he rested, he found his strength failing him. He sat back down and tried to gather himself.

"Ronan!" he yelled as loud as he could. "Ron—" Before he finished, a Centaur with a chestnut coat entered the hut. It was not Ronan, but rather Felspar's mother, Macleta. Harry had seen her often, cantering next to Ronan during some of his training sessions with Shahan and Felspar. Her face was placid and her dark eyes deep. She bowed to Harry as she approached him.

"Ronan is in meditation," she said softly. "He has seen many things under the passing stars, but today's events have shaken him." She bent low and placed her hand against Harry's face; the touch was soft, warm, and the dizziness in Harry's head began to fade at once. "And you, my child," she began again, "I see your wound has mended, but how is your spirit?"

"Gabriella? Where's Gabriella?" Harry struggled to get up, but Macleta placed her hand against Harry's shoulder and the steady weight pushed him back onto the bed. Ordinarily, Harry would have resisted, but there was something calming, something reassuring in the pressure of her hand and, without saying a word, Harry knew Gabriella was well.

"I myself have made poultices from the _Fungerum_ to heal the wounds of my brothers and sisters. It was fortunate that the soils upon which you fell were rich with their healing powers. Still, even I, who saw the passing of Ebyrth in the last age, have never seen them cure so severe a wound so quickly, as if they were driven to save your lives."

"I… I asked them to help us," said Harry quietly. Macleta laughed.

"I do not doubt it," she said with a smile. "As for your mate, she too has been healed of her injuries. It is but—"

"Then let me see her!"

"Her spirit was not well when she arrived. When Ronan told me of the Dark Wizard…" Macleta let out a long, low sorrowful sigh. She could see the fear filling Harry's eyes and again a warm smile graced her face offering reassurance. "She grows stronger by the minute, but it would be unwise if she saw your face right now. Your link to Voldemort was once strong and the reaction might not go well."

"But I was _Cleansed!_" Harry protested. "Surely there's—" Someone shouted outside the hut. There was a rumbling of hoofs and a sloshing of mud.

"You brought _IT_ here?" a voice cried out in anger. Harry recognized at once it was the voice of Shahan, the black colt he had been training with these last many months. The tone was not surprising, since every time the young Centaur opened his mouth it was usually filled with vitriol. His words now, however, carried the slightest tone of fear. "It's darkness; it's hatred! Where is Ronan? Why did he not crush it when he had the chance? You must send it away and let it die!"

"She carries now no darkness." The new voice was that of Felspar. "The darkness has fled her. It would have fled her in either case. How then could we leave her to die?"

"What is that to us?" snapped Shahan. "And this one!" he sneered. Harry could almost feel Shahan's heavy breaths as the Centaur leaned close against his hut. "This one cost the lives of half the herd in the Carpathians. They died trying to serve his will. Is that what you want for your family? I will not wait for him to lead us like blind molamars to our deaths."

During the argument, Macleta, her expression serene, bowed her head to Harry and excused herself without saying a word. A moment after her tail passed through the door to Harry's hut, Shahan was about to say something else when his voice was cut short. Harry had trained and even battled with the Centaur and was unable to fathom what power would have the colt gurgling, gasping for breath.

"You will learn your place," whispered Macleta calmly, "or you will leave the herd." Suddenly, Shahan heaved in a gulp of air. There were no more words, only the sound of rain splattering into the puddles collecting outside. Naked, as he always was with the Centaurs, Harry stepped outside. It was night; a steady, cold rain continued to pelt down. Macleta and her daughter were standing next to each other as if they were speaking, but no words were passed. Shahan was nowhere to be found. Harry stepped over to them, the mud pushing up through the toes of his bare feet.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, drips of water streaking down his face. Felspar bowed her head.

"It is good to see you well," she said. "I am glad that you have finally come to see our home."

For the first time, Harry took in the encampment which was really more like a small village, just a little smaller than Hogsmeade. He'd never seen it before, but he did know its name – Terntalag. There wasn't so much a main street as a main path. Huts and shops were an organic part of the environment around them; it was difficult to tell where Centaur construction ended and nature began. He looked back at his own hut which had a fire burning warmly inside, but outside there was no chimney and no smoke rose to the air. There were a few older colts, full grown Centaurs, and two aged Centaurs that made Macleta look young still walking about. All noticed Harry as they passed by and all nodded their heads, but none stared, they simply went about their business. Harry had a chance to take in many expressions and appearances, and his first impression was that Felspar was among the fairest of them all. He had never really noticed before, but there was something more energetic, more innocent, and yet wiser that graced her form – traits he now noticed in her mother as well.

With Macleta's permission, Felspar walked Harry to Gabriella's hut, but warned him not to go in. Instead, she offered to show him the rest of their encampment. As they walked, the rain began to stop and Harry saw a flash of white he thought might be another Centaur the colour of Felspar, but as quickly as it appeared it faded from view.

"What was that?" he asked.

"A spectre," she replied calmly. "Since word reached us of the battle in the Carpathians, strange things have been happening in the forest." Harry pondered how things could be stranger than they already were. "More giants have arrived, establishing a camp near the caverns of the falls. Ronan says they are here to help, but others aren't so sure, least of all Shahan. Stranger still are the white spectres that pass in and out of existence. I have seen such creatures before, but never so many and their numbers continue to grow throughout the forest. Mother sees it as a sign, but of what she will not say."

"And the Dementors?" Harry asked. Felspar hissed.

"Would that they try to slither onto our lands," she said and then spat on the ground. "Nothing has passed our borders without our knowledge. That is why Shahan is so angered that Voldemort himself could make it on to our forest."

"But she… er, _he_ didn't," said Harry. "Ronan saw at once."

"His hesitation for your sake, may have allowed Voldemort to escape. That he nearly killed the Chosen in his haste… it is a delicate balance, and he now questions his heart. To what cost may one destroy the darkness? That is why he meditates. May that you never need make the choice."

They walked a bit further. Felspar showed Harry a great opening, beneath a canopy of trees, lined with tables but no chairs. It reminded him a bit of the Great Hall. Here, all the Centaurs ate together in a common meal. They continued to walk and talk. It was the first time they'd had a chance to do such a thing since they'd begun to train, and it was the first time Harry had had the opportunity to get to know the filly. She was sweat. Her smile glowed and her white hair matched the colour of her coat, but unlike most of the other Centaurs it was cut short, reminding Harry a bit of Tonks.

At one point the conversation lagged and Felspar's eyes gazed upward to the heavens. It was a common look among Centaurs and even Harry found himself gazing at the stars unable to comprehend what exactly the Centaurs saw. He noticed that her expression saddened and her eyes squinted, although Harry knew by now that Centaurs weren't using their eyes to gaze at the heavens. She was looking toward Ebyrth, now visible to all – even Muggles.

"What is it?" he asked. "You seem troubled."

"The other day, Ronan told me, but I did not believe him." She continued to gaze intently at the comet. "But today… I think I can see."

"See what?" Felspar pointed toward Ebyrth… almost. Her finger aimed just to the east of the comet – toward Mars which flickered red in the night sky.

"It will be close," she whispered. "But what it means, not even Ronan will say."

"Close?"

"Ebyrth approaches Mars. They have never been so close. It is possible that they will collide."

"Is that bad?" Harry asked. Felspar shrugged her shoulders. But in a flash her dower face brightened.

"Gabriella wishes to see you now; she is well."

Harry ran, Felspar at his side, and before another word was spoken he was outside Gabriella's hut. A Centaur stood guard outside, a large spear in his hand. As Harry moved to enter the Centaur barred his way.

"Only the gentler race," he said. Harry's eyes flashed red. He was about to take action that was anything but gentle when Felspar stepped between them.

"They are mates," she said and the guardian nodded with comprehension. He pulled back his spear. Harry looked at Felspar and began to blush. "Well you are, aren't you?" she asked. There was something coy and flirtatious with her tone. Harry smiled and stepped inside.

Covered in a red woollen blanket, Gabriella lay on a thick pad on the floor of the hut. An elderly female Centaur crouched low to her side. Both their eyes were closed as the Centaur held a hand across Gabriella's forehead. Harry wanted to interrupt, but a voice inside told him to be silent. The moment soon passed and the Centaur removed her hand and both women opened their eyes. They smiled at each other – almost laughing.

"Thank you," said Gabriella with a soft voice. Her eyes fell upon Harry and her smile widened.

"I never thought I'd see you smile at a Centaur," he said, wearing a grin himself.

"I never thought I'd see you running around naked for the whole world to see," Gabriella retorted. Harry blushed, realizing that he must look strange to someone who didn't understand their ways.

"Erm… well, I guess you just get used to it after a while."

"I think you enjoy it," said Gabriella suggestively. The Centaur stood and bowed to Harry. She was quite large and looked down on Harry as she spoke.

"Your mate is well, though there are still scars upon her spirit that may never fade away. That which bites has been banished." Harry bowed in return.

"We are forever in your debt." The gesture surprised the elderly Centaur. Her eyes twinkled with satisfaction and she looked back at Gabriella with a smile.

"You have chosen well," she said approvingly. "We all have." Then she turned and exited the hut, leaving Harry and Gabriella alone. Harry fell to his knees at Gabriella's side and took her by the hand.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"At peace," she said as she sat up. "I was so scared, Harry. I wanted to die. But now, I am, for the first time since my family left Lebanon, at peace."

"I thought…" Harry wavered. "I thought your vision had come true."

"Evidently, I am not my mother. I do make mistakes. Thank Asha for that!"

"Are you ready to travel?"

"I can travel, but I'm not walking through the forest naked."

Harry smiled. "What about walking naked around your tent?" he asked, flashing his eyebrows up and down. "We are _mates_ after all." Gabriella took Harry's left hand in both of hers and looked up into his eyes. Her expression deepened.

"Are we? Are we really, Harry?" The question was slow and deliberate. He knew what she was asking. He took her right hand and wrapped it in his. He fingered the golden ring that he had given her last year on Valentine's. The ring was woven from spun gold and laced with scarlet rubies that glowed in the dim light as he touched them. She wore it on the middle finger of her right hand. He slipped it from her finger and held it in his own.

"If Voldemort only knew what he had in the palm of his hand," Harry whispered. "Do you remember last year when I asked you to hold my heart and soul until the time was right?" Gabriella giggled a bit, remembering the banter of their letters to each other.

"Yes," she said.

"Well… it's not a Horcrux, but in here I've given a bit of myself that has always been yours to keep. I poured my love into the ring, Gabriella, and that energy is locked into the weaves of gold. If Voldemort had known, he could have controlled me utterly." Her eyes widened in disbelief and Harry stroked the long strands of hair from her face.

"Funny thing is… I thought I'd given it all to you, all I had, but in here…," Harry held his hand over his chest, "it's as if my reservoir has been replenished. Nearly twelve months and the love I have in here surpasses the love held within this ring. It's time you had it all."

"What are you talking about?"

Harry placed the tip of his finger over the row of rubies, pressed down and slid them with a click to one side. An explosion of white light struck the top of the hut. Its intensity was blinding and Gabriella had to shield her eyes.

"It's my love. And, at the time, it was all I had." Harry placed his hand over the ring. "But now, I have more and I give it all to you." He closed his eyes and uttered an incantation that ended with:

"_Amoramendum!" _

His arm and hand began to glow a vivid blue. Gabriella could feel the energy fill the air. The glow flowed down Harry's arm and spit out the tip of his finger like a small lightning bolt into the ring. When it was over, the light radiating from the ring was so intense Gabriella had to look away. Harry pressed the jewels and slid them in place; there was a click and the light faded. When Gabriella looked back at the ring, the row of rubies had been replaced. In their stead was a row of sparkling fire stones – more rare than diamonds, more brilliant than sapphires, they glowed the colours of the rainbow and in their centre was mounted a dragon stone. Its glow was fiery red and not but a member of the Votary could tolerate the heat with which it burned.

Harry again turned the ring about in his fingers and then his green eyes met her black and a grin creased his face.

"I've fantasized about this moment for months, but I never dreamed we'd be doing this in our birthday suits. I was hoping for the beach and a golden sunset, not with mud up to my knees on the dirt in a Centaur hut." He positioned himself on one knee and at once Gabriella began to tremble.

"Oh, Harry, I didn't mean you had to—"

"_Shhh," _he whispered, "you'll make me forget my speech." He cleared his throat and held the glowing ring out with his hand. "I wish that I had had the chance to ask your father for your hand. I can only hope that, before he died, he knew how much I loved you. It's important that you—"

"How much we loved each other."

"Would you let me finish?" He cleared his throat again. "Erm… That said, I have received your brother's blessing to—"

"No!" Gabriella gasped in surprise. "You asked Antreas? What did he say?" Harry sighed.

"Well, if you must know, he said that if one day the stars so choose, he could think of no other that he would rather call _brother_." Harry shifted position; his leg was beginning to fall asleep. "Now… as I was saying—"

"That was sweet. Don't you think?"

"Yes… I do, but—"

"And if you think about it, a part of Papa is within Antreas and always will be. So… in a way—"

"Damn it, Gabriella!" Harry yelled. "WILL YOU MARRY ME OR NOT?"

At last, Gabriella was silenced and slowly she held out her trembling left hand. Harry let go of the ring in mid-air and it hung there suspended as Gabriella extended the fingers on her hand. Without touching the ring, Harry held up his hand and flames sprang forth from his palm.

"Is that a yes?" he asked smartly. Gabriella's hand steadied.

"Yes," she breathed.

"_Iunctura!"_ Harry breathed and the fire pushed the ring forward, glowing white, onto the ring finger of her left hand. "By Asha's breath we are bound forever."

For a moment they sat and watched the ring on Gabriella's outstretched hand as the glowing gold dimmed, but the stones never lost their fire. Finally, Harry took her hand into his and kissed it. He could feel the heat burning his lips, penetrating his tongue. He looked up into her eyes.

"I love you," he said gently. "Did you know that?"

"You talk too much," she replied and her eyes began to twinkle. With a move worthy of a matador, she spun the red blanket from off her bare breast wrapped it about Harry's bare back and pulled him close. "Time to ride, stallion."


	26. I do

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 26 – ****I do**

~~~***~~~

Night gave way to morning and the sounds of hooves stomping past the hut woke Harry, but Gabriella still slept. The long strands of her hair wrapped Harry's bare chest like a warm blanket and he began to stroke the side of her face, slipping his fingers gently about her ear and down the back of her neck. He pulled the wool coverlet up over her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. Still, she did not stir.

_Was it possible? Were they really—_

A familiar cough came from outside the hut's door, deliberate and loud.

"Enter," Harry whispered softly, knowing that the Centaur could hear half as soft a voice. Macleta entered, wearing a warm smile. She bowed her head and then stepped forward.

"I trust all is well?" she asked.

Harry nodded silently in reply.

"The morning meal will soon be served. It would do you both well to eat."

"She's tired," Harry said softly.

"Yes," replied Macleta, "it was a long night, I'm sure." Her eyes twinkled, but her face was serene.

Harry could tell she was being feisty, but her expression was unchanging, very much in the manner of a Centaur. He smiled and raised his free hand to shake a finger at her, and it was then that he noticed the mark on his left ring finger. It looked as if someone had tattooed a band upon his skin. It matched the weaving of the gold ring he had given to Gabriella, only the colours woven were red, blue and green. They flowed in and out of each other like a braid that wrapped about his finger. Macleta noticed the confusion on Harry's face. She stepped closer and admired the symbol's clarity and coloration. It was no mere marking, for when it caught the morning light slipping in through the hut's door it shimmered, making Harry believe that he could grasp it and slip it off. Harry was surprised when he saw the faintest hint of a smile appear upon Macleta's face.

"_Hmmm._ Dragonfire. It is… what you have done… a tremendous act of devotion."

"Devotion?" Harry asked.

"A connubial ring," Macleta answered quietly. "There are few Centaurs capable of—"

"But I never even tried to—"

"One does not wear a connubial ring because they _think_ they should. They cannot wave a wand and make it so. Such a symbol can only come from the heart. It is a deep magic, rarely seen, but, for the faithful, the forest provides such. Your connection with the great beasts and with the small is strong. Since first you arrived to our lands, these trees have known your name, even the earth, as it did yesterday, springs forth to help save your life. The forest has been one with you, nature your ally. Firenze saw it first; soon after you met, he discerned your path. It was he who convinced Ronan to consider the possibility that you might be the Chosen. That was four years ago, before any knew that Ebyrth would return."

"Firenze?" Harry asked, not really expecting an answer. He leaned back and again began to stroke Gabriella's hair with one hand, holding the other up near his face to examine his finger. He was not disquieted by its appearance. To the contrary, he found the unique banding a comfort and smiled to himself, releasing a soft, contented sigh. "I have not seen Firenze for quite some time. Is he well?"

"Yes," answered Macleta, "but quite busy. He was here earlier, but had to return to his duties. He was asked to leave word with your Dumbledore that you are both healthy and that you shall return today." A brief expression of sadness crossed her face. "Firenze did bring news that may trouble you. Though none of us can cheat the cycles of the sun, he asked that you be told. Your Master's star wanes."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry. "Dumbledore?"

"I saw the day when his star was first born."

"When Dumbledore was born?" The beat of Harry's heart began to accelerate. He was about to sit up, but forced himself to relax, to control his emotions, and let Gabriella sleep. Macleta's expression grew distant, whimsical as she remembered another time, not better, but perhaps more dear as memories often are.

"Not when _he_ was born," she corrected. "When his _star_ was born. Long ago, my mother foretold the coming of a new age for the magical beings of the earth – a small seed that would change the enmity that had so long grown between our races. Dumbledore's star was born when he defeated Grindelwald, and the darkness of hatred was diminished. For years, his star waxed bright in the morning sky. It was this brightness that convinced Firenze that it was time for Centaur and wizard to work together against the darkness, to protect you against Voldemort when you were less than a colt. Others were not convinced that the time for such an alliance was at hand."

"Yeah, and some still aren't," said Harry. "Shahan for example."

"Centuries of mistrust and disparity are not easily washed away, Harry Potter. It was but two years ago that a mad witch began wildly firing at the herd – at the time, she was the very leader of the school you are so quick to support."

"_Umbridge,"_ Harry hissed. "She wasn't _my_ leader!" The loudness aroused Gabriella if only for a moment. Her arm stretched and her hand came to rest upon Harry's belly.

"There is much work to be had by _both_ sides." Macleta bowed her head once more. "Please, you must come… eat and prepare for the new day." Without another word she slipped out of the hut, before Harry realized he'd forgotten to ask her what exactly she meant by Dumbledore's star waning. He was about to call for her, when the hand on his belly began to slide up his chest and back down. Gabriella began to finger the trailing of hair beneath Harry's bellybutton.

"I thought she'd never leave," she whispered. "Are you ready to get up?" she asked, her hand slipping lower. She lifted her head to look into his eyes. He wondered if ever he would be able to say no to her and quickly realized that his fate was sealed. He kissed her on the lips.

"Yes," he replied, rising.

Some time later, Harry, with Gabriella at his side, emerged from the Centaur hut. He held her arm in his and even she marvelled at the new scintillating symbol emblazoned upon Harry's ring finger. Soseh had told her of such things in stories when she was quite young. It was the stuff of fairytales and magic. She pulled Harry close, imagining, if only for a moment, that he was her prince and she his princess.

Together with Felspar, they moved toward the great opening where the herd was assembling for breakfast. Neither wore clothes, nor did they bear weapons, for it was forbidden within the confines of the Centaur village. Harry told her she'd get used to the feeling, but she was unconvinced. In fact, she was more nervous about being naked than fearful from the Centaurs that passed by – a tremendous improvement, Harry figured, in Centaur-Wizard relations. Not once did she refer to them as 'beasts'.

Harry noticed that as the Centaurs approached them they would first bow their heads to Gabriella and then to Harry. After this had happened a few times, Gabriella looked up at Harry and said, "They don't bow to each other like that. What's it all about? And why me first? I feel a bit like royalty." The morning sun caught the band on Harry's finger and dazzled his eye.

"I think, in a way, you are," said Harry, bowing his own head, returning that of the last passing Centaur. They had spent nearly the entire year together since Harry first encountered the Centaurs and was thrown into the Falls of the Forbidden Forest. Yet in all that time, Gabriella refused to speak with him about his experience. "Gabriella," he continued, "where the Centaurs are concerned, we have some catching up to do."

When they came to the large gathering for their meal, they found the tables filled with food and nearly a hundred Centaurs waiting to eat. Harry was shocked to discover they were all delaying their meal for the arrival of the Chosen one and his mate. Ronan met the two as they approached and took Gabriella by the hand, escorting them to a table that very much resembled the head table at Hogwarts.

"I must offer you my apologies," he said to Gabriella, "for it was I that struck you near your heart." Without thinking, Gabriella's hand moved up to the spot on her breast where the arrow had pierced. No mark now remained. Her mind fell back to that moment when the arrow struck and Voldemort still had control of her consciousness. Her body shuddered – not for the arrow, but for the darkness that had so utterly controlled her.

"Are you okay?" asked Harry. All Centaur eyes were upon them, but he turned to face Gabriella. "We don't need to do this." She looked past him at those assembled. At the centre of the head table, Magorian, their leader, stood with two open spaces at his right.

"Yes we do," she said quietly. She took in a large breath, as if preparing for a dive in the lake and then let it out slowly. She smiled, kissed Harry on the cheek, and then stepped up onto the rise toward the great stone table where Magorian stood. Gabriella bowed as she approached, placing a fist to her heart as the Centaurs had earlier done to her; she did resemble royalty.

"Sir," she said deferentially. Harry followed in kind. Magorian appreciated the gestures and bowed his head. He raised his hands and demanded the attention of all those gathered. It was hard for Harry to fathom why they would all wait to eat until the two of them had arrived.

"Not since the days of old, when Gryffindor ate at this very stone, a stone he helped my great-grandsire hew, has a wizard supped at our table. We welcome, this morning, our Chosen and his mate, that they might stand as an eternal flame against the pressing cold that would consume us."

No one said a word, but there was a near deafening pounding of hooves, although, against a thatch covered wall to his left, Harry noticed a few fuming faces. Among them were both Bane and Shahan; the latter's eyes were filled with a greater expression of rage, well out of place among the mostly dispassionate Centaurs. Then Magorian looked at Harry, who took a moment before he realized he was supposed to say something. Stepping forward, he cleared his throat, searching for words.

"Ebyrth… Ebyrth has returned, marking the coming of yet another battle against the darkness. It is a battle I fought just last year, a battle I thought I had won." He glanced at Gabriella. She stood proud and impassive, her eyes fierce, but unyielding of emotion. Harry could not help but smile, knowing that she was sensing the emotions around her and reflecting them back in her facial expression to the crowd. A _perfect Centaur,_ he thought.

"You well know that we fought hard in the Carpathians. A great many brave Centaurs lost their lives that night, but many more of our foes fell and the darkness was repelled. But that did not, that will not end the onslaught of darkness. The Dementors—" There was a low hiss. "The Dementors have joined with the wizard, Voldemort, who darkened your doorstep just yesterday – the foe I failed to vanquish last year and who has dogged me and mine these last many months. It will not be long before he gathers the Dementor darkness and others who would serve his will. Soon they will arrive here as one. On that day we too must stand together, wizard and Centaur, elf and goblin, even the merpeople of the lake – all must stand united against this darkness… this evil.

"My… mate and I owe you are lives." Harry turned to Ronan and nodded toward him, but the Centaur looked away, almost embarrassed. "I have trained hard to learn your ways, to fight as one with the Centaur herd. My knowledge is less than that of a colt, but I will do all that is within my power to defeat that which threatens both our peoples. Together, we can—"

There was a crash. Shahan slapped a clay pitcher of mead with the back of his hand and it smashed against the trunk of a tree, shattering to pieces and spraying liquid high into the air. He turned to leave.

"Shahan!" called Magorian. The young Centaur stopped and turned to face his leader. His eyes smouldered as he crossed his arms, but he spoke not. Magorian continued in a firm, but fatherly voice. "There is a darkness on your soul that stains your mind and weakens your heart. You would do well to step back from the brink and meditate on its source. Stay alert this night under the stars and divine its meaning." Shahan huffed, but said nothing. Again, he turned to leave.

"And Shahan," said Magorian with a voice of steel, "if ever you embarrass our herd again, you _will_ be banished. Is that understood?" Shahan nodded, but the gesture was insufficient. "IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?"

"Yes, Magorian," muttered Shahan, placing a fist over his heart and offering a bow. For a moment his eyes drifted over to Harry; there was hatred. "It is understood." He turned and left in silence, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles were white.

"Let us eat!" called Magorian. Harry was about to dig in when every Centaur placed arm to chest, and raised their faces toward the heavens. There were no words spoken and the silence lasted but a few seconds. Then, Magorian and the others lifted their heads and all began to eat.

The meal was simple, but satisfying and both Harry and Gabriella ate their fill. There were no chairs and they stood throughout, sharing simple pleasantries with Magorian. At the meal's end, there were no house elves to usher plates away. Instead, a good portion of the herd remained behind and assisted cleaning the dishes using dry sand and water. By the time they left the tent, the sun was high above the forest canopy and Harry and Gabriella said their good-byes.

Firenze had left fresh clothes for the two of them and they dressed before leaving Terntalag. Quietly, Ronan escorted them back to the edge of the forest without incident. Occasionally, Harry noticed a fleck of white appear behind the trees. He knew that it was Felspar, following them. With few words, they came to a charred depression that spanned the ground a good twenty to thirty feet across. In the centre of the ashes was a small sapling, some two feet high.

"The same tree?" Harry asked. "It survived?"

"No," replied Ronan. "But the cycle of life can still continue. Felspar planted this tree last night in the rain. She has named it _Cariad._"

"_L__ove,"_ whispered Harry. Gabriella looked into his eyes and took him in her arms.

"Very good, Harry Potter," said Ronan with a nod of his head. "You show much promise. I only wish we had some years to prepare."

"Please, give our thanks to Felspar, Ronan," said Gabriella with heartfelt sincerity.

"None are required. It is our charge in these magical lands. Now, be on your way."

Arm in arm, they walked out of the forest and onto the castle grounds. The air was cool, but the sun's bright rays were warming, and quite a few students were out on the grounds. Nobody seemed to notice that Harry and Gabriella had been gone for the day and night, or if they did, they didn't care. As they stepped toward the castle, Harry's pace slowed.

"We cant' tell them you were possessed," he said. "Nobody has to know."

"We have to tell—"

"You don't understand," he interrupted. "Just like Ginny, they'll never look at you the same. Ever since the Chamber of Secrets was opened, they still fear her. Oh, they'll smile to her face, they'll act friendly, but they won't get close, not _alone_ close – none, but Dean."

"Even still, we have to tell Dumbledore," Gabriella argued. "He has to know." Harry nodded silently. They walked a little further and he slowed again.

"And the ring?" he asked.

"Rings," she corrected, holding his left hand up so that the band upon his finger caught the afternoon sun, its iridescent glow forced him to squint his eyes.

"You know what Ron and Hermione will do if they find out that we—"

"I won't take it off."

"No. But… let's just say that… that we're engaged. That… that this…" he touched his left hand with his right, "…this is just a tradition of the Votary." Her face scowled, none too pleased with the idea. "They're my friends," he added. "I've upstaged Ron every day since we've been at Hogwarts. I want him to have his moment, without thinking that I beat him to it."

"Okay." Gabriella nodded. "For now, but don't be surprised if Hermione recognizes a connubial ring when she sees it. They're in all the great romance novels." She smiled, her eyes twinkling. They stopped halfway to the castle and kissed each other. The embrace was interrupted be an acerbic drawl.

"Well, if it isn't the king and queen of the ball!"

Harry spun to see Nott, flanked by Crabbe, Millicent and a few other younger Slytherins. What surprised Harry the most was the presence of Blaise Zabini a few steps behind the cluster of green, but clearly a member of the pack. Nott stepped toward Harry, glancing from left to right, and his followers fanned about, shielding the scene from any prying eyes. Blaise was still a few paces back, but pulled his wand with all the others. Harry had not carried his wand to training, but Gabriella slipped her hand around hers without pulling it forth. Nott, certain that he finally had the advantage, was emboldened and slipped his own wand away, stepping closer until he was toe-to-toe with Harry.

"What? No wand, Potter?" asked the Slytherin. "That's a bit daft, don't you think? Everyone knows…" he dropped his voice down low, "the Death Eaters are out to kill you."

Without reaction, Harry closed his eyes, reaching out his mind to see if any of those facing him might have been taken by Voldemort. Each individual aura, however, bore a singular colour. Some were scared, others filled with hate. Blaise, however, was the calmest of them all, which was also the most disquieting to Harry. Still, relieved that he was simply facing his fellow students, Harry opened his eyes and smiled.

"Teddy, you're looking well," he said calmly. "I see that your, erm… _fits_ have subsided long enough to convince the crew that you can be their leader again!" Harry referred to the sloshes in Nott's memory that had left him speechless, or speaking gibberish for no reason at all. The leftover effects of James', or rather Voldemort's mental attack on him. "If only you recognized the master you truly serve… you might be more prudent in your actions."

"You're in no position to prattle, Potter." Nott pointed his finger in Harry's face, but in a whirl Harry grabbed him by the wrist. "What? You think I'm frightened of you, Potter? You'll do what I say, or…" There was a burning smell in the air. "…be a good boy and… _Hey!_" Nott noticed the small plume of smoke rising from his right arm. The black band of ebony upon Harry's finger, the ring of Pravus, had burned through the outer sleeve of Nott's robes and now he was beginning to sense the heat. He tried to pull away, but Harry held him fast. "Let me go!" he yelled.

The smell of burning cloth gave way to burning flesh, and Nott began to cry out, now in pain. Millicent cast a spell at Harry, but Gabriella shielded it. Then Crabbe and another Slytherin raised their wands, but they were stopped short by a flash of purple light.

"_Bohaira!" _

The ground erupted before them and dust filled the air, blotting out all vision. Harry felt Nott being yanked away. Unable to see, he reached out with his mind. Blaise still stood off and to the side, but the others, including Nott, had plummeted down. Gabriella reached for Harry's arm, supporting herself in the whirlwind. At first, Harry thought that the group had been blown to the ground, but their bodies were not prone, but erect. They were standing, but beneath the surface of the earth. When the dust finally settled, he looked down to discover all of them buried up to their necks in the soil. Barely able to move her head, Millicent began to scream in panic, suddenly drawing attention to the gathering. Harry watched as Blaise slipped his wand away.

"_You?"_ Harry mouthed. Blaise just smiled and retreated toward the castle, his fellow Slytherins unable to turn their heads to see him. Students began to rush over, as Nott spat dirt from his mouth, cursing Harry for what he'd done. One of the first to arrive was Neville Longbottom who seemed to be more observant that the others as to what had just happened. Seeing that Harry and Gabriella were fine, he began to walk around the mysterious pit, almost as if he were taking notes. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, which disturbed Harry somewhat.

"How'd he do that?" coughed another buried Slytherin, breaking Harry's concentration on his fellow Gryffindor.

"You'll pay for this, Potter!" Nott yelled. He tried to twist his neck, but was unable to watch as Harry and Gabriella followed Blaise up toward the castle's front steps.

While they walked, Harry looked down at the black band about his finger and, wondering, touched his tongue to its glossy surface. It was hot, but it didn't burn, at least not Harry.

Gabriella stopped Blaise just before he reached the castle steps. "A bit risky, don't you think?" she asked. "Going against your Slytherin mates and all."

"You're a Slytherin," he said with a sly smile. "So I didn't violate the code, did I? Besides, they think Potter did it, not me. I'll just say I ran." He chuckled to himself. "They'll believe that."

"But why?" asked Harry. "It's not going to do much for House unity."

"Isn't it?" queried Blaise. "A friend asked that I watch your back."

"A _friend?_" asked Harry. "Not Draco?"

"Patrick." Blaise drew in a breath of air. "He and I share a common bond. We'll both see Voldemort pay for what he's done to us and that includes any bastards that support him. I don't care what house they're from."

He turned and started up the steps, Gabriella and Harry continued to follow as students tried to extract Nott and his pals from the soil without much success. Someone had tried to explode them out and Nott was yelling that they nearly tore off his head. Just after the three passed in through the castle doors, Blaise looked around to ensure that they were alone and stepped close to Harry – so close he could feel his breath.

"As for Draco…," said Blaise in a hushed voice. "You've sent him to die. You know that don't you? If Voldemort has taken Lucius again… if Draco's with him now… he _knows,_ Harry… he _knows_. I… I told him when he was here, when he was James. He knows about you two being… _friends_."

"But Blaise, I… we—"

"It's worse," Blaise interrupted Harry. "He knows… Draco and I… he… he and I… Damn it, Potter! I told him not to go near you! You had a fanatical enchantment over him and it's spelled his ruin." Without reason, Blaise grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt. "You… Do you even care? Could you possibly rub to neurons in that tiny little brain of yours and put one and one together? And if you could, would you even give a damn, Potter? You heartless bastard! He never… he never had a chance and now… now he never will." Blaise's eyes turned to fire, suddenly hating Harry, but they also bore in their depths an unfathomable sadness. He shoved Harry hard against the door and left.

"A chance for what, Blaise?" yelled Gabriella. Just before disappearing down toward the dungeons, Blaise paused and looked back at his fellow Slytherin.

"He never had the chance, Gabriella," he called back, a tear slipping down the side of his face. "Not even with his own parents." Blaise shook his head, wiped his face roughly with his palm and disappeared.

Harry took Gabriella's hand with one of his own, rubbing his freshly bruised shoulder with the other.

"What's he babbling on about?" Harry asked. "One minute he's fine, the next he's a raving lunatic." Gabriella squeezed Harry's hand and looked warmly into his eyes. Her own face was melancholy. There was a burst of laughter as the castle doors opened and a group of Ravenclaws made their way in, reciting the scene playing outside on the castle grounds. Gabriella's face remained stoic, a mirroring of the queenly image he had seen in Terntalag.

"Love, Harry. He's talking about love."


	27. Choices

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 2****7 – Choices**

~~~***~~~

Harry looked down into Gabriella's eyes and then glanced back toward the steps that led to the dungeons of Slytherin. Blaise had long since disappeared, but Harry's glance still lingered for a moment. Then, his hand took hers and his fingers turned the ring that had bound them forever. How could he be so blind? He knew and yet, until now, he didn't truly understand. When Harry's eyes returned to Gabriella's, they were pained.

"Draco…," whispered Harry, "…no wonder he's so… so…"

"Viciously evil?"

Harry's eyebrows furled. "No! Well… maybe. He's tried so hard to love, but no one's ever loved him back. Not really." Harry's hand caressed the side of Gabriella's face. "Not like this. Not here… in the open." Her eyes slid back toward the dungeon steps, at the nothingness left in Blaise's absence.

"I do not know, Harry. I think there may be some things about Draco Malfoy we will never learn. As for his love life…" Gabriella clenched the front of Harry's shirt and pulled him close, smiling. "You, my dear, are mine."

Harry was about to say something when the front doors burst open again, flooding the front corridor with light. A group of second years was carrying a student in their arms. His face was somewhat charred, the front of his robes were scorched, and the smell of burning hair filled the room.

"Out of the way!" one yelled.

"We've got to get him to the hospital wing," yelled another.

"He tried to turn his toad red and his wand backfired!"

The smouldering student groaned as Harry stepped in front of the group.

"Let me see," he said dismissively, rolling his eyes.

"We need Madame—" The student stopped, realizing who he was speaking with. He pushed back one of his chums, yelling, "Let him see! Let him see!"

They set the student down onto the stone floor, his head making a hollow _thump_ as it hit, and Harry placed his hand just above the boy's chest, closing his eyes and reaching forward to find the injuries.

"My name's Harry," he said to the injured boy. "What's yours?"

"R-Ralph," muttered the student. The left side if his face was pretty badly blistered, as was his wand hand, but overall the injuries were minor.

"Hufflepuff, right?" Harry reached out and began to heal the wounds without using his wand. "I think your mates, here, would have fought Voldemort himself to see you to safety."

"Y-Yeah, I… what the… hey!" The wounds were healed, though his face and arm were still covered in a blackened mess. He shifted up onto one elbow, staring at his hand. "The pain… it… it's gone." Harry reached for Ralph's hand and pulled him to his feet – the small group gathered all clapped.

"Fine house, Hufflepuff," he said. "Where's your wand?"

"What?"

"Your wand… where is it?"

"Here," said one of Ralph's friends. "I picked it up for him."

"Good," said Harry, taking the wand from the student, examining it for a moment, and then handing it back to Ralph. "Never let it out of your sight, Ralph. In the wrong hands a cursed wand can kill." Ralph's eyes grew large and his rather large head nodded vigorously. "What was the spell?"

"The spell?" asked Ralph.

"Yeah… the spell to turn the toad red."

"Oh… that." Ralph pointed at one of his classmates. "Spaldy taught it to me. Erm… _ Sunshine, Daisies, Buttered Bread; Turn this stupid fat toad red."_ Harry glared at Spaldy, who began to slowly slink away.

"_Elfsmora!"_ cried Harry, sending a greenish light from his wand and striking Spaldy on the head. The young man's hair disappeared and his ears curled up to tiny points. The group gasped. Harry turned to Ralph. "Hufflepuff's a great house, but you never can be too careful. I'd talk to Baldy a little more about that spell of yours." Spaldy started to move more swiftly down the corridor; the others giving chase.

"Wait a minute, Spal!" one yelled.

"And ask him what he did when he _borrowed_ your wand!" Harry called after him.

"I thought I sensed deceit," said Gabriella. "I just wasn't sure who."

"Good," said Harry. "_I_ was just guessing."

"Harry!" chided Gabriella. "You should never—" Again the doors opened.

"Who in blazes name is it this—" Harry looked up, shielding his eyes from the sun, to find Dumbledore framed by the castle doors. He was wearing long blue robes and, backlit by the sun's streaming rays, he appeared almost godlike in stature. His attention was focused, however, out on the castle grounds.

"VERY NICE!" Dumbledore cried out to someone well out of sight. His voice was so loud it shook the floor itself, but Harry noticed a thinness that wasn't there before. "Quite an excellent idea, Mr. Nott! It is always good to see the youth of today trying to learn more about their roots." Almost absentmindedly, Dumbledore turned into the castle, stopped himself, and spun back outside.

"Mr. Creevey!" There was a slight pause. "No. Yes, you Colin. Please add a little water to our troupe of truth finders. Buried as they are, I'm sure it will help to sprout some new ideas!" Harry heard Dennis, Colin's brother, yell something back in agreement, there was a _pop,_ and then a screaming sound, and then Dumbledore turned inside, this time to find Gabriella and Harry, smiling at him.

"Ah! Mr. Potter and Ms. Dar…" His eyes caught the flash of gold on Gabriella's finger. Dumbledore's eyes darted to Harry. The change of his finger did not go unnoticed. Still, Harry slipped his left hand into his pocket. "A pleasure to see you both well."

"Sir," said Harry, "we need to speak with you about—"

"I was hoping I might find you, Harry," Dumbledore interjected. "Firenze provided me with a quite extraordinary tail. Even he was excited in its telling and for Firenze that's saying something."

"Sir, about that. You should really know—"

"Would you like to join me for some tea?" Dumbledore interrupted again.

They followed the Headmaster down a long corridor and Harry presumed they were heading toward Dumbledore's office, but they past the extremely ugly stone gargoyle and continued down the corridor toward the staircase leading to the astronomy tower. On a few occasions, Harry tried to tell his story, but each time Dumbledore would interrupt him by whistling, or describing some cryptic historic fact about a wall, or stone, or suit of armour. When they past the staircases to the astronomy tower, Harry began to wonder what exactly Dumbledore was up to. Harry had been down this way, and he knew it was nothing more than a dead end – Amortentia Alley. Sometimes students would use the benches to snog late at night, using the excuse, if they were caught, that they were just coming down from stargazing and had turned the wrong way. Walking down here with the Headmaster made Harry's palms sweat; it just wasn't right.

At mid-afternoon on a Sunday, the corridor was deserted. A dim light made its way in from the windows high above that lined the walls. They walked until they could walk no more. All that was in front of them were a half dozen wooden benches with various inscriptions and hearts wanded into them, and the stone wall some fifty feet high and twenty feet across that was covered by an old tapestry that had hidden the bare stones since Harry was a first year. He looked up at the windows, wondering if they would now try to somehow levitate up there; it seemed, to him, the only way left to go. He could make out the blue sky, but nothing else. A bird flittered by just as he heard Gabriella gasp.

Harry diverted his attention back to Gabriella. Her hand was over her mouth and her eyes were fixed on the tapestry. She was backing away from the wall. Harry glanced at the tapestry, noticing some bird holding what looked like arrows – some American thing. Gabriella continued to back away.

"What's wrong?" he asked her, but she said nothing. He looked at Dumbledore. "Sir?"

"Nothing is wrong, Harry," Dumbledore answered quietly. He sat down on one of the benches, took out a small gumdrop from his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. "Perhaps you too should step back and admire the weaving. It has draped this wall since _I _was a student here." Dumbledore smiled and his blue eyes twinkled. "In my fourth year, little Terry Pensington and I would…" He shook his head, smiled and began to chew a bit more vigorously, scanning one end of the bench he was sitting on for something.

Harry walked over to Gabriella and put his arm around her, and then he turned to face the tapestry. He'd never before given it a moment's thought, but it was actually quite amazing really – some sort of medieval battle scene set in perhaps the ninth century. Visible through a dark moving mist, there were all sorts of creatures that came into and out of view as the scene on the tapestry changed, much like the movement of people in the portraits that lined the walls. Arrows shot through the black clouds; soldiers, wearing armour, slashed with their swords and occasionally a flash of flame or bolt of lighting would cross a portion of the landscape.

A rather large Centaur caught Harry's eyes. He'd never noticed Centaurs in the scene before, but he'd never really paid that much attention. Looking more closely, he noticed that it wasn't just one Centaur, it was an entire herd. The dark clouds weren't clouds at all, but swarms of Dementors blocking out whole portions of the countryside just as they had in the Carpathians. The clash forced Harry's eyes upward and there he saw, high above the scene, the comet Ebyrth floating in the sky – a shining omen of war and despair. Harry's heart began to race as he felt himself being drawn into the tapestry; it was as if he was on the battlefield again. His arm began to ache and he looked down to see the familiar mark, raised and red.

On the tapestry, there were giants and vampires, werewolves and wizards, all battling because the Centaurs and Dementors had been compelled to do so. Only, in this scene, the selected allies were different; friends of today were foes of old. The comet flying through the heavens above had ordained war and the sides were drawn to fit the age. The battle raged with no victory in sight for either side. It was a battle scene not unlike many in the castle. All such battles told the same story and Harry wondered why this one, more than any of the others, besides its more present implications, would cause Gabriella to look so stunned and his arm to ache.

He didn't need to wait long for the answer. Her hand tightened about his as the large bird Harry had seen earlier broke through the clouds of darkness. That's when Harry noticed it wasn't a bird at all, it was a dragon. A female Hungarian Horntail as ebon as the dark of night, her scales shimmering like a million tiny stars, opened her great mouth and flame roiled out enveloping the entire scene. In her claws she held not arrows, but a lightning bolt, no, _two_ lightning bolts. They crossed each other as she flew high toward the comet – the Viswa Vajra. Harry felt his hand stroke the scar upon his forearm, his thumb sliding against the similar symbol at his own wrist, a rune uniquely his in all the Votary.

From below, a Centaur appeared, took aim and shot at the dragon, but before the arrow left the bow a woman, one of the commoners by the looks of her tattered garb trapped within a vice of war, threw herself in front of the bowman. The arrow pierced her breast and she fell dead. The dragon turned and attacked the Centaur and all below. The scene filled with fire, was blank as if someone had cleared a chalkboard with the wave of a wand, and then the action began anew, like a movie replaying itself over and over again.

"Asha!" Gabriella whispered.

"Yes, it's amazing," answered Harry.

"No," Gabriella corrected. "Asha… Asha and Aniente."

"Aniente? Your great, great—"

"She laid down her life that the dragon might live."

"And ever since," said Dumbledore, taking to his feet, "the Votary has been bound with the dragon." He too faced the tapestry. "It was the second coming of Ebyrth. Your great ancestor, Aniente Hayk, died protecting Asha. In this war, Dakhil was a young wizard of seventeen. He was one of the first members of the Votary. When Asha died, the evil of that age attacked him, thinking that he might have held the dragon's heart. Fortunately, it was hidden elsewhere and his refusal to speak kept it safe, but he paid a terrible price."

"Vampires," Harry hissed just under his breath.

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore said with a slight nod of his head. "Vampires." He reached back into his pocket. "Taffy?" he offered. The two shook their heads. Dumbledore shrugged and began to chew.

"I don't know why I never noticed," said Harry as the Centaur reappeared in the scene.

"Few students who wander back here ever do. I suspect your mind was on… _other_ things. Come, I promised you tea." He started back toward his office.

As they walked, Harry looked over his shoulder. The scene on the tapestry once again filled with flame and reset itself. His forearm continued to tingle.

"Sir," he asked, "how did the war end? What made them stop fighting?"

Dumbledore let out a long, slow sigh as they came to the gargoyle. "Death," he said softly. "They all died. Teatime Taffy." The staircase emerged and they hopped on as it spiralled upwards. Gabriella's eyes met Dumbledore's as the staircase rose. For a moment they locked, but then her eyes fell and her head and shoulder slumped.

"But how?" Harry asked, pressing the question. "If I knew how the evil was destroyed, perhaps I could—"

"NO!" Gabriella snapped. "Never think it!" The doors to Dumbledore's office opened and the three entered. Fawkes squawked and Harry would normally greet the bird, but Gabriella's reactions surprised him. She was clearly agitated, but didn't want to say more. Dumbledore decided to explain.

"It was the dragons, Harry. They tried to remain neutral, but their lands were being threatened, much as they were in the Carpathians. They decided to stop it." The expression on Gabriella's face was pained.

"Please, Professor," she pleaded.

"The truth is simply that… Ms. Potter," Dumbledore said, slipping into his chair. Both Harry and Gabriella looked at each other and then to their rings. Harry took her hand. Their bond, right now, was a second concern. Harry needed to know how to defeat the Dementors.

"But sir, if I could only—"

"They incinerated everything!" Gabriella snapped. "They purged the battlefields."

"They killed the Dementors? Their allies? Isn't that a good thing?" Harry asked.

"Not just the Dementors, Harry. Everything and everyone. Centaurs and Dementors, werewolves and wizards, it didn't matter what side they were on, they were all destroyed."

"The dragons called it a purge," added Dumbldore. "Truly a scorched earth policy. The destruction led to famine and plague. Its repercussions were felt for nearly a century. It was guilt over the devastation that turned Asha's heart to Gabriella's kin, the only humans that had ever shown them kindness. Although, some say it still bears the anger of the age, tempting those wizards who would try to control it."

"But couldn't the wizards just—"

"Not in those days," said Dumbledore. "In the earliest of times, dragons held the strongest of magic."

"They still do," said Gabriella shortly. Dumbledore nodded kindly in agreement, not willing to argue the point.

"But in the tapestry… the symbology… the dragon held the Viswa Vajra… to destroy ignorance and evil." Harry didn't notice how he clutched his own arm, nor did he hear how his voice was almost pleading for support.

"Can you think of a better definition for war, Harry?" Dumbledore asked simply. "During the second coming of Ebyrth, the dragons didn't care whose side was right. They only wanted the battle to stop. They chose the only logical path available – complete, combined annihilation of both sides. Since then, at the first sighting of Ebyrth, they have been courted by both sides to join their cause."

"And refused," Gabriella added.

"Until now," Dumbledore said. "And the champion of that cause bears not only the likeness of the dragon on his arm, but the symbol that represented Asha's very spirit, a spirit that killed everything to balance the scales of justice. And though you have been chosen by the Centaurs, dragons have never held any affection toward our forest friends. Knowing your connections, Lucius Malfoy chose to attack, hoping to rekindle the rift, hoping they would fight against each other once again so that he could get to you. He failed.

"Voldemort found himself in the middle of a battle that was already underway. He will not make the same mistake again. Through you, Harry, the power of the dragon remains undiminished. When the choice comes near and the darkness closes in from all sides, the choice of annihilation will be within your power. What then will you choose to stop the madness, Harry? It will not be Singehorn's breath of dragon fire that destroys; it will be your power, a power you have only just begun to understand."

"I won't destroy the whole fucking world to wipe away the darkness!" Harry asserted. "That's insane! I mean… erm… Sorry, sir."

"In the beginning, Harry, when first we begin our righteous journey, the precipice is never so clear. The crevasse opens with the simplest of things: the bending of good and right for noble causes; the abandonment of justice in favour of expediency; the temptation that, because we are more powerful, we are somehow wiser. Harry, I wanted to show you the tapestry because you needed to see it; to truly understand the history that is now at work, a history that must be woven into the decisions you will make, decisions that I will soon not be able to advise you on."

At these words, cold darts buried themselves deep into Harry's heart. He'd heard Macleta's words, but…

"What do you mean?" he asked, already knowing the answer. Dumbledore leaned back into his chair.

"I am dying."

There was a raucous cacophony of protest by all the Headmasters and Headmistresses within the portraits that adorned Dumbledore's office. He held up his arms to quiet them.

"Why?" Harry asked, ready to attack the foe, or heal the illness. "What happened?"

"Time, Harry," Dumbledore said tenderly. "The one warrior we can never defeat." There was a pause and then he looked sadly at Gabriella.

"Two years ago, I would have seen the evil that darkened these walls. I would have been able to see the poison that had held James in its grip. The mist fogs my eyes and I no longer see as I once did. I can no longer draw, as I once was able, from the deep magic that permeates this school. Soon, the ability will fail me utterly. How you were able to flush him from your body—"

"Fire," Harry whispered, hardly able to speak. Dumbledore smiled.

"Of course." The old wizard nodded with approval. "You've both been tempered by the dragon. Very good, Harry. Very well done. When the time comes, I'm confident you will be ready. You would do well to listen to the very capable witch at your side. You must both be ready, for he has again escaped. Another vessel was waiting; who I do not know. They had to leave the forest quickly. Perhaps by broom, or a flying beast of some sort, though I doubt it; Tom hates heights. It was more likely a Portkey." Gabriella stepped to Dumbledore's desk and took his hand in hers.

"Sir," she said softly, "is there anything we can do. You know the talents of the Votary, of the gift Harry carries. Even time may be cheated for a little while." Dumbledore took her hands in both of his.

"I would see this battle through, if it was within my power, but the prophecy is clear it is not my war to win." His eyes fell upon Harry. "My only wish is that I would have come to know you and your family sooner." He let out a contented sigh. "I spoke with your mother just yesterday – a delightful woman. She offered me a delectable dish of desert pastries. Made by hand! Incredible! She was, of course with Remus, with whom I have been discussing transition plans."

"But, sir—"

"Enough, Harry!" Dumbledore cut in. "Like many of those I hold dear, I've written you a letter. Though I must say, yours is one of my better efforts. I think you'll find, when you open it, a rather…" His blue eyes twinkled with delight. "What will be can wait till it is. What is must be acted upon now."

Dumbledore rose from his chair, stepped from behind his desk and walked toward the silver instrument about which pinpricks of light floated randomly. At least, it looked random to Harry. Dumbledore examined each glowing point with interest. There was a large cluster he was particularly concerned with.

"Lucius Malfoy," said the Headmaster, his eyes never leaving the instrument, "has moved a large number of Death Eaters and Dementors into Greece. Curious. All within the last few hours. Wizards are Apparating in all over the country. The Dementors have abandoned their attacks on Centaur herds throughout the Carpathians and are moving south. It's as if they're dragging a net from the north down, looking for something… or someone."

"Cho's child," whispered Gabriella with a furtive glance toward Harry. Dumbledore didn't raise an eyebrow.

"Sir, I've meant to tell you, but I swore. And now… you're dying… and I…"

"Go, on," Gabriella coaxed.

"Well… Cho had a baby last summer... my baby. His name is Jamie." The crow's feet of Dumbledore's eyes rose jovially and the blue behind the half-moon spectacles flashed a deep azure. He placed a large hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled.

"Are you happy?" he asked.

"No… er, yes. I mean, I was," Harry sputtered. "He has a target the size of South Benton on his back. Voldemort intends to take him somehow. Use what spirit he has left and the blood that runs through Jamie's veins to bring himself back again."

"And Greece?"

Harry stood silent. He refused to say a word. Gabriella saw the pain on his face and decided to speak what Harry could not.

"They're in hiding," was all she said.

"I can imagine where," said Dumbledore, "but… strange. I visited Sirius just last summer and now… I can't remember…" His eyes fell on Harry. "You're the Secret Keeper."

"I won't—" Harry started, but Dumbledore stopped him.

"Nor should you," he said, his face suddenly appearing more forlorn and weary. "I told your parents to hide, to remain hidden in secret, to let only one know their whereabouts – it failed them.

"No place is safe, Harry. Wherever they are in Greece," his eyes fell back on the specs of light floating about the instrument, "they will be found. If you wait more than a few days to move them, the net will have been drawn too tight and they will not escape. If you move too quickly, without proper planning, you run the risk of a rash mistake and its consequences might… well, you understand more than any.

"You might consider moving them to the Ministry, where Arthur's private Aurors would offer some protection, but where there are more protectors, there are more betrayers.

"You could consider bringing them to Hogwarts, but there are dark forces at work here that even I cannot control. You have done much to bring the houses together. Are they ready to stand, to step up to the challenge of uniting against the darkness, or would they turn on you for bringing it here and putting them all at risk?"

Harry shook his head with uncertainty.

"You have a great decision to make, Harry. It is not to be taken lightly. As you can see, I am not yet dead, but I would guess that I will not see the end of the school year. I've asked Remus to take my place here and have coordinated it with the Minister. Remus is a powerful wizard, Harry. More powerful than you realize and yet, more importantly, he has a warm and caring soul.

Harry swallowed hard, not sure how he felt, or what he thought. "I love Remus with all my heart, sir," he said, "but he would have killed Draco last year given the chance." Harry watched as two more pinpricks of light appeared on the instrument.

"More Death Eaters?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore.

"I… I want you to see him… see Jamie."

"I'm sorry, Harry, but that's no reason to risk his life," said Gabriella cautiously. Harry nodded.

"But—"

"Gabriella is right, Harry. But that does not mean we won't meet some day."

"Then… then I'll go… stay with him and protect them."

"And your oath to the Centaurs?" Gabriella asked. "The Dementors in the Carpathians may be moving south, but the Dementors in Britain are moving on the Great Forest here at Hogwarts." Harry growled and slammed his fist against the table.

"I didn't make these choices!" he cried. "They chose me!"

"You may not have chosen to have a child, Harry," said Dumbledore, "but you chose the actions that led down that path. You were drawn to the Darbinyans from the first day they arrived across the street. You may not have heard the dragon calling, but it was, and you answered." He looked down at the band wrapping Harry's ring finger. "And sometimes, as it was with the Centaurs, destiny is thrown upon us and all we are left to do is to live and love and… sometimes… fight.

"Think well upon what you must do, but do not dally. I will support your decision," Dumbledore smiled, "however foolish."

Harry stepped over to Albus Dumbledore and hugged him. Then he reached out and took Gabriella's hand and pulled her in as well. Fawkes let out a squawk as the three embraced. Finally, holding Gabriella's hand, Harry stepped back.

"Sir… would you… you are the closest person I have to being a father. Would you give us your blessing?"

"I would be honoured, Harry."

Dumbledore held out his hands and softly spoke a chant. A golden, glittering light grew from his hands until it filled the room, making it difficult to see. With Gabriella at his side, Harry could feel the golden light brush across his face, penetrate his body and warm his soul. When the light faded, Dumbledore looked fatigued. He moved back to his desk to sit down and Harry knew that it was time to go.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "I'll think about what we've talked about."

Harry and Gabriella were about to leave when Dumbledore stopped them.

"Harry," he called, still looking down at the mahogany top of his desk, "when was Jamie born?"

"Harry and Jamie have the same birthday," Gabriella answered brightly.

"A wonderful surprise," Dumbledore said with a nod of his head. "Wonderful."

Again they moved to leave. Harry had opened the door when Dumbledore called one more time.

"Harry, has Cho ever faced Voldemort?" Harry looked perplexed, not understanding the question. "Since Voldemort came to life after the Tri-Wizard Tournament, has she ever seen him?"

"No, sir," said Harry shaking his head. "I battled him at the cemetery and then again at the Ministry. She was never with me."

Dumbledore's eyebrows furled and he gave his head a sharp shake, as if trying to bust loose a spider clinging to his beard that just wouldn't let itself loose. The problem was, this spider was weaving a web with each passing moment, becoming more entangled and entrenched. It would never let itself go, no matter how hard Dumbledore would try.

"And Gabriella..."

"Yes?"

"As I understand it, your custom is to bless the males of Harry's line, no matter their mothers. Has Jamie received Asha's blessing?"

"I had just finished and was returning home when I was taken by Malfoy's Death Eaters."

"Did Cho or Anthony know that's what you were doing?"

"The specific blessing will be revealed to Jamie, and only Jamie, when Asha deems it so. Even I do not know what its nature will take." Seemingly satisfied, Dumbledore nodded at the information.

"Enjoy the sun," he said with a wave of his hand. Harry was sure he felt a slight shove push him through the door. "And please, should you get the opportunity, tell Patrick O'Riley to report to my office."

"Yes, sir," they said in unison.

Streaming through the windows high above, the sun was warm and bright, as the two made their way down the corridor from Dumbledore's office. It would be a glorious day and, before too long, signs of spring would begin to emerge in the barren soils about the castle grounds. Neither felt like talking. Gabriella had been shaken, reminded of the terrible power held by the Heart of Asha, and the responsibility that was hers to see that such destruction never happen again. Harry's thoughts, to the contrary, were not about power, nor about responsibility. Harry's thoughts were swirling about family and love and loss. They were nearly to the front entrance when his hand tightened about Gabriella's. He was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Fighting back the mist in his eyes, he stopped and looked to the blue sky above. Yes, it would be a glorious day. He stood there for a moment, locked in a silent prayer and then fell to his knees and wept.


	28. The Best Laid Plans

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 2****8 – The Best Laid Plans…**

"What is that?"

"What is what?"

"That?"

"What?"

"THAT?"

"Nothing."

"Bloody, hell! What is it?"

"Just a ring."

"Let me see. Come on! No. Take it out of your pocket. Come on…. That… is it… it's a tattoo or something?"

"Or something."

"It's catching the light like it was silver or copper, but it's on your skin. What is it?"

"I said… just a ring. You know… like a promise or something."

"Promise? Valentine's isn't until… You didn't ask her, did you? Did you?"

From across the dining table, Harry felt Ron begin to penetrate his mind – something he still did on occasion when he really, really wanted to know a secret and Harry really, really wasn't going to tell him. Harry's defences shot up and pushed him away, but Harry didn't complain. He'd gotten use to the sensation, and Ron got so used to being pushed back he stopped saying sorry. Harry didn't give it more thought than swatting away a fly, but that didn't make Ron buzz any less.

"It's not an engagement ring, if that's what you're asking. It's just… well… it has to do with the Votary and a bunch of stuff you don't what to hear about. I love her, you know? And she love's me. And the other night I went to sleep thinking that there would never be anyone else, and, somehow when I woke up, this was on my hand. Don't roll your eyes like that! It… it's no big deal. Just don't make a scene about it in front of—"

"There you two are!" Hermione called stiffly as she approached the Gryffindor table for dinner. As she came closer, Harry noticed the look she was giving Ron; it wasn't pleasant. He looked up at her pleadingly.

"I was hungry! And… and there's practice tonight!"

"Ten minutes! You couldn't wait ten minutes?"

"You've said ten minutes before and it's never _just_ ten minutes."

"What do you mean, _never?_" she scolded. "If I had a Knut for every time _you_ said just ten minutes when you're talking to somebody about Quidditch!"

"That's different!"

"_DIFFERENT?"_

A plate of food appeared before Hermione as she poured herself some spiced tea, slamming down the pitcher. Harry was thankful she and Ron were arguing again; it made things feel normal, if only for a little bit. She was about to turn her wrath on Harry, who wasn't really feeling that well to begin with, for coming down to dinner with Ron ten minutes early, when Dennis and Colin Creevey sat down for dinner laughing hysterically.

"I think his ears started to sprout tulips… At least… I _think_ they were tulips. They looked like tulips, didn't they? _Hah!_"

"I don't know, but the lot of them are with Madame Pomfrey right now."

"They need Professor Sprout!"

"And when Luna thought they were seriously trying to grow roots and—"

"—and she added fertilizer! I thought I was going to—"

"What did she call it?" Dean asked down the table. Luna, who happened to be just across from him at the Ravenclaw table, turned to face him.

"They were horklump droppings," she said with a steady voice. "And I don't understand what you see that's so funny about the whole thing. Even Professor Dumbledore knew Nott and his friends were seeking nature for answers. It was probably very hard for the Slytherins to admit that they needed to find another part of themselves. My dad's paper did a story about it – _Splinching with Nature_. "

"And what part is it you think they found?" asked Dean.

"Well," she answered straightforwardly, "I think it may be more a question of what they lost. I know, when Crabbe finally came out of the soil, he said that he'd never again be able to—"

"Attention!" called Professor McGonagall as she tapped the side of her goblet with her wand. The room went silent at once. "Professor Dumbledore is not well this evening, but he asked that I pass on a few announcements. First, he reminds students that, while he appreciates that the Valentine's holiday will soon be upon us, the Forbidden Forest is just that – strictly forbidden. No student, or pair of students, is to wander off into the trees, even near the forest edge.

"Secondly, Mr. Filch has been finding gum under student desks in the classrooms. There is no excuse for such poor behaviour. Desks have now been enchanted to chew back any student trying to do so again.

"Finally, you should know that a handful of students from the Olympian Academy, in Athens, will be joining us tomorrow. As you will no doubt read in the morning's Daily Prophet, the school was attacked today and many of the students are fleeing. I trust you will welcome them warmly. That is all for now."

The Great Hall exploded in a low rumble of murmurs and whispers as if no one wanted anyone else to hear what they were thinking. The sound harkened back to the darkest of times last year. It was a room filled with accusation and uncertainty.

"Why would they want to come here?" someone said with a hushed voice.

"It's no safer with us so close to the Centaur herd."

"That's why he doesn't want us near the forest."

"The Centaur herd isn't the only thing they're after." Some eyes shot toward Harry.

"It's not the first time they've tried; it won't be the last."

"Well, you know the way to solve the problem, don't you?"

"If they want to attack, let them come!" cried Dennis Creevey. "I'm not going to crouch in fear and try to make deals for what portion of my soul I get to keep."

"Yeah!" yelled someone from Ravenclaw. "We've smashed 'em before. We'll smash 'em again."

"With Barghouti here, it's not like we don't know a thing or two about how the dark side thinks!" Dakhil, who was seated at the head table next to Hagrid, tried not to look pleased, but a smile escaped his usually scowling face.

What Harry thought was going to turn into an indictment against the Centaurs and a vilification of him, turned out to be something quite different. Lavender stood up, her hair as perfect as a portrait, and her winter dress turning most male heads in the Great Hall.

"If they creep in so much as one dark fingernail onto Hogwarts grounds, trying to attack Firenze, I'll fry them myself!" Her eyes flashed with fire and, for the first time, she actually frightened Harry.

"She will!" yelled Padma, echoing Harry's certainty. "Barghouti taught her the spell and Harry told her where to aim! And if they think the other witches of Hogwarts are soft, they've got another thing coming! It'll be enough to make a Dementor pee his pants! Erm… if they do that sort of thing." The witches in the hall howled in approval.

"We've learned from the best everything we need to know!" Luna called out. It was the most animated he'd ever seen her. For a moment, her eyes caught Harry's and somehow he felt she knew everything there was to know: why Anthony was absent, why Harry's finger suddenly bore a ring, why Greece was under attack. He subtly nodded his head approvingly in her direction.

Then someone yelled, "With what Harry's taught us, we will stand together! If we do, no darkness will dare cross onto castle grounds!"

Cheers rang up everywhere… even at the Slytherin table, with the notable absence of Nott and his gang, being lead by Gabriella, stood in affirmation of the preparation provided by the professors as well as Harry's prowess. The clapping and cheers died almost instantly, however, like a wave crashing against the rocks at the shore, when people realized who had called out the last words. Standing at the entrance doors to the Great Hall was James Chang, fresh out of St. Mungo's.

Here, before the entire class stood the man, the boy, that had killed the Minister's wife. Harry glanced over at Ron, whose knuckles were white as his hand squeezed a roll of bread so hard it oozed butter out onto the table. It was in this Great Hall where James was the first student accepted into all four houses, but, at this moment in time, it was very questionable if any of the four houses would accept him at all. Yet, there he was, looking as healthy as ever, if not a bit pale, maybe even a bit taller than when Harry had last seen him, cheering the school on to victory against the very evil that had nearly driven him mad.

You could have heard a ghost pass through a wall it was so quiet in the Great Hall. Nobody moved; nobody breathed. They just all gawked at the uncle of Harry's son. The bluster and bravery that had filled the hall just seconds earlier was spilling away. Harry was trying to will himself out of his seat – to stand and say something noble. But the feverish face that screamed at him in the bowels of the prison on Fengsle Isle haunted his vision, and the flash of green that flew from James' wand, killing Molly was too much to bear. He found himself using his second sight, looking at James only to discover that it held but a single aura – Voldemort free. Harry wondered why he hadn't used the skill on others since facing Nott and his gang. He scanned about the Great Hall, but the sheer numbers made it impossible to discern one aura from the next.

There was a scraping noise from up at the head table – Professor McGonagall moving back her chair, struggling herself to think of something to say. Harry opened his eyes and looked back at her with normal vision, but before she had a chance to stand, Patrick O'Riley, isolated and alone at the end of the Gryffindor table, stood from his bench and ran over to James Chang. From where he sat, he had to run the length of the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing off the walls, the only sound besides his own breathing to be heard. When they met, Patrick wrapped his arms about James and hugged him. At once, they both began to cry.

Their sobs were heavy, heartfelt, as James kept repeating the word, "Sorry."

Gabriella was the first to leave the Slytherin table. She had grown close to James in her conversations with Cho, and she too gave him a hug. Then Owen Cauldwell from Hufflepuff, who often played wizard's chess with James, started moving toward him. Su Li and Orla Quirke who doted on James last year when he visited Ravenclaw ran up to him as well. Harry looked over at his best friend, seated directly across from him. Ron's eyes were on fire, his buttery hand now fingering his wand. Hermione reached over and touched his wrist. He jerked, then, realizing who it was, slipped the wand away and tried to relax; he couldn't.

"Ron," she whispered softly, cautiously, "if you stood… and took his side right now, the rest of the school would follow." Looking deeply into Hermione's eyes, Ron's own softened, but his jaw remained set.

"I… I can't. My… He… he…"

"No he didn't," Ginny said sharply, but quietly, as she rose to her feet. "If he did, then I released the Basilisk. I nearly killed your fiancée. I nearly killed you all." Ron shook his head in disagreement.

"But that… that wasn't… this… this is different." Ginny held her hand out to her brother.

"We need to do this… together."

Ron looked toward the small group surrounding James. The hall was growing more animated, but uncertainty still permeated the air. All it would take is one accusation, one harsh remark, one misguided spell or hex, and the animosity would be reborn. Ron looked at his sister and then at his best friend.

"Don't look at me," Harry said. "Hermione's right – everyone knows how you feel. If Ginny walks up alone, it won't matter. You're the eldest here. You're the seventh year."

"I'm also the best friend of Harry Potter." Ron smiled for the first time.

"That might get you a liquorice whip at Honeydukes, but that's about it, mate."

"Watch," Ron said with an air of confidence worthy of a Gryffindor. He took Ginny's hand and started to the doors of the Great Hall. He was easily the tallest boy in school and as he proceeded down the path between the benches, the seats behind him cleared as student after student followed. By the time he and Ginny made it to James, not a seat was empty. Perhaps the students were supportive, perhaps they wanted to watch the bloodbath, but the whole school was surrounding James and the Weasleys, some standing on tables to get a better view. Even the professors at the head table were all standing, all except Dakhil who seemed more interested in the viscosity of the fluid contained within the goblet in his hand.

Harry stood, but he didn't leave his place at the Gryffindor table. There was something to be said for taking in the scene from a distance, and in his heart he knew what was about to happen. Those feelings were confirmed when a tremendous cheer filled the hall as Ron put his hands around James. When he did so, everyone closed in, welcoming their classmate.

Love, warmth and power filled the room. Harry could feel it swirling about him like an invisible ethereal mist – compassion, energy, strength. Then he realized that it wasn't just filling the room, but being pulled in toward him. The Heart of Asha was drawing the power to it, gorging itself with the strength. He had experienced the same feeling at the Joining with Singehorn. The vivificus stone, the stone of life, was now more alive than ever. Harry felt that, if he could draw from just a portion of the stone's growing power, he could end this war, once and for all. He could destroy them all; he could crush—.

A hand gently rested upon his shoulder. It was Hermione Granger.

"You did this," she said with a hint of a smile upon her face as she watched the students at the far end of the hall each try to say something to James, welcoming him in some way. Any tension, any concerns had been washed away. It took Harry a moment to regain his composure. Hermione took it as a sign of emotion, looking into his eyes and brushing the hair from his scar-free forehead.

"No," said Harry, drawing a great breath. "Ron did." He turned, put his arm about Hermione, and looked back at the gathering which now included some of the professors. "It's easy to see the strength of unity when you see friends. It's far harder to embrace an enemy. Ron… he's had to fight, to dig deep to find that part of himself that can accept. I didn't show them how to embrace a foe. They wouldn't have seen it through me if I had walked up there and hugged James, any more than when Patrick did. But Ron… Everyone here knows how he feels about James. But he pushed past all that. He showed every student and professor here that it can be done and now… now they believe." He paused for a moment, still sensing the surge of power within him. "Now… they're ready."

"Ready for what, Harry?" she asked. He held her by the hand and looked about, ensuring they were out of earshot.

"Tonight, after midnight, meet me and Ron in the common room."

"Why? What are you—"

"Midnight," repeated Harry, and he strode away, not to greet James, but to pull Gabriella aside and let her know his plan. Then, he skirted the crowd gathered about James and disappeared through the doors to the Great Hall.

It wasn't until near midnight that Harry had almost everything in place. Skipping Quidditch practice, he'd asked Dobby to arrange things with the house elves and to discuss Harry's plans with the few goblins in Hogsmeade that could be trusted. With that done, Harry went and told Professor Dumbledore and then Dakhil of his plans. The complexion and overall appearance of the headmaster was far worse than when he'd met with Harry just a few hours earlier. Dumbledore had answered the door to his office in his bed clothes. He was generally pleased with Harry's decision, but something was bothering him, something that he wouldn't share with Harry. As for Dakhil, Harry had caught up to him in the dungeons and the vampire shook his head with disapproval.

"You're putting all your pieces into the battle, boy – wizards, elves, werewolves, Centaurs and goblins. I doubt the dragons will come to your aid, but let's say they do. Let's say, for one day, you can keep them all from attacking each other. There's nothing left – no other creature to come to your rescue should the battle last long and they begin to turn on each other as things falter. And you WILL falter; don't think for a moment that you won't. I've seen it before… they _all_ falter."

In the Forbidden Forest, Harry had met with Ronan, Magorian, and a number of the other Centaurs preparing for battle, and had told them that he was leaving. Still, he reaffirmed his oath and swore that he would see to their protection in his absence. When Shahan scoffed at his assurance, a pang of rage snapped inside Harry and, for a second, a ball of fire appeared about his left fist, glowing as bright as a small star, forcing them all to turn their heads. Magorian rebuked Shahan and the flame about Harry's hand diminished and disappeared. Before Harry departed, Ronan had commented to Magorian that Ebyrth had grown brighter and that, as he said, "It will be close." Magorian grunted in approval, but Harry had no idea what they were talking about.

Now, alone in the boys' dormitory of Gryffindor Tower, Harry sat on the edge of his bed with a small bag of clothes and other items he might need in Greece. His intent wasn't to stay long, but he would be prepared if his intentions failed. Dakhil had been correct to caution that the strategy might not be as quick as Harry hoped. Harry took in a deep breath trying to gain some energy, but he felt tired and his stomach was a bit unsteady, probably from not finishing his evening meal.

Ron and Hermione were already waiting downstairs in the common room, still wondering what he was going to do. On his desk was a blank parchment next to a book on healing potions. Harry shook his head. He'd only just caught up, and now he would be leaving for who knew how long. For the first time at Hogwarts, he actually was saddened for missing Snape's class. He stood from his bed and the blood drained to his feet, causing stars to appear in his field of view and the room to tilt just a bit.

Evidently, the fury of the day's activities had drained him so he went to the bathroom to throw some water on his face and try and revive his tires eyes. It didn't help much; he still felt a bit dizzy and nauseous. As he was leaving, he ran into Patrick who was going to take a shower before getting ready for bed. His face was smiling until he ran into Harry; the appearing scowl was deliberate and enhanced for Harry's viewing pleasure.

"Hey, Patrick," Harry tried to say with as light a tone in his voice as he could.

"Bugger off," Patrick muttered, pulling the curl of his lips down a bit further at the corners and refusing to meet Harry's eyes.

"Hey," said Harry, taking Patrick by the arm, "what's up?" A wand appeared from nowhere and, in a flash, was in Harry's face. The moved surprised the older Gryffindor.

"Let go me arm," said Patrick with cold eyes. Harry eased off.

"No need for that, eh? We're friends, right?"

"Right," spat Patrick, still holding his wand at the ready and backing slowly away – a move Harry had taught in the DA meetings earlier in the fall. "That's why yeh haven't said two damn words teh me since I've been back. Since… since…" Patrick's hand began to tremble and his eyes grew moist.

"Harry P-Potter," he said, forcing himself not to cry. "What a joke. What a lie. I thought yeh'd be different. I thought yeh'd understand."

"I do understand."

"Yeah, and that's why yeh left the Great Hall today without even looking at James when he came back. Yeh've hated me. Now, yeh can hate him."

"Pat—"

"Yeh think he didn' notice?" Harry didn't respond. "Well? DO YEH?"

Harry dropped his pack to the floor with a thwump and fell to a squat beside it, in similar fashion. He rubbed his face with his hands. It was late; he was tired, and it was taking all his energy not to be pissed off. Harry took a deep breath, trying hard to regain control of his emotions.

"Do you…," Harry began, his voice steady, if a bit thin, and his eyes on the floor. "Do you know who convinced the Minister to let James free?" Patrick just stood silently, refusing to lower his wand. "He was imprisoned beneath the ocean for Merlin's sake! Surrounded by the worst filth… I was there when he was released." Harry raised his head so that his eyes met Patrick's. "I held him in my arms when he still wasn't sure who he was. It's just… I didn't expect him so soon. I was going to visit, but time… it's more fragile than I thought."

"That doesn't explain why yeh've been an arse teh me, or why yeh left when James came in." Patrick was defiant and surprisingly dignified, though he stood with nought but a pair of slippers, holding a towel in one hand and a wand in the other. Harry rose to his feet, a bit too quickly for Patrick's liking. A stinging spell spat from his wand and headed to Harry's face. With a wave of his hand, Harry quickly deflected the spell, but it still nipped his shoulder, making him wince. Patrick's eyes grew concerned about what Harry might now do to him – concern, but not fear. Harry just sighed.

"I deserved that," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "You're right, I've been an arse. I've been stupid and unfair and I could have set an example, but instead I just avoided you. I'm sorry." The words took away the irritation from Patrick's expression.

"Yeah… well, I really didn' mean teh zap yeh like that." He lowered his wand again. "Sorry. I… I only ever wanted teh help."

"Look, Patrick, I'm leaving to Greece, tonight. Voldemort's found another body to possess and now he's started his own battle, searching for… for James' sister, Cho."

A look of surprise spread across Patrick's face and, for the first time, it appeared as if he might believe what Harry was saying. Still he said, "I… I don't believe you," but the words held little conviction and were imbued, instead, with a sense of excitement. "Why would he care about Cho?"

"Don't believe me! Why the hell do you think I have this pack?" snapped Harry. The tone in Harry's voice brought Patrick's wand out again. "What? You still …" Another wave of fatigue passed through Harry. "I don't have time for this. Come on. If you don't believe me, come with me. Come see with your own eyes." Harry turned and headed toward the door. Patrick's wand tracked him as he went, but the boy's feet didn't move from the spot where they stood. Harry turned back to face him.

"Well, are you coming or not? I swore to you we'd stick together so get your arse in gear and—" Patrick looked down at what he was not wearing.

"But I can't. I don't have any—"

"Bah!" Harry chided. He pulled his wand, tapped Patrick on the head, and Patrick found himself wrapped in a set of Gryffindor robes, his slippers now a pair of black boots.

"Straight from your trunk. Now," said Harry, "Follow me." He began to walk, then stopped and looked at Patrick. "That is… if you think you can trust me."

Harry didn't again look back at Patrick as they made their way to the common room, but he could hear the young man's footsteps just behind his own. As they came to the top of the circular staircase, Harry grabbed his broom, which was leaning against the wall, held it behind him without looking back and said, "Hold this. We're going to need it in a bit."

Patrick took the broom and said, "Sure," his voice almost eager with anticipation.

In the common room, Hermione sat next to Ron by the fireplace. Ron held a broom in his hand as well.

"You two ready?" Harry asked. They both looked at Harry and then at Patrick. Ron pointed with his finger.

"Why is—"

"Don't ask."

As they made their way down the staircases to the castle's entrance, Hermione continued to express her concern that Patrick was with them.

"He'll lose house points, if he's caught out after hours."

"Like the rest of us aren't? I'm sure the Head Girl," said Ron, "will be able to—"

"What took you guys so long?" said Gabriella in a hushed voice, stepping out from behind a column. "Why is P—"

"Don't ask!" the three said in unison. Gabriella shrugged and took Harry's hand.

They made it out the door with only one close call from Mrs. Norris; she had just come round the corner, but had meowed just before, giving herself away and allowing the troupe to hide in the corner as she passed down toward the dungeons.

Once out on the castle steps, Ron and Harry climbed onto their brooms and invited the others for a ride. Hermione hopped onto Ron's and Gabriella hopped onto Harry's. She held her hand out to help Patrick on, but he declined, choosing instead to ride with Ron and Hermione. As soon as all were mounted, Ron and Harry took the brooms upward, climbing the face of the castle to its highest tower. Hermione kept her eyes shut. They stopped against the tower's wall some fifteen feet down from the top. There, Harry found a small red stone, no larger than a galleon, hidden among the large, gray, rough hewn block of the castle walls.

He pulled his wand and whispered. "_It's well past midnight, we swear it's true. Open up and let us through._" The group shrunk until the stone appeared to be a large, red cavern.

"Hold tight," Harry suggested and they flew into the spot with a tearing, slurping sound and emerged on the other side. "Welcome to The Marauders' Eye!" he said brightly. It was the most energized he'd felt all night. Harry pulled his wand and tapped a black pillar; music began to play. Hermione noticed some magazines on one of the tables piled in a sharp stack – clearly Dobby had seen that the space was kept clean.

"These are recent," she said with surprise. She glared at Ron. "You said it was nothing but a dusty old bin of a room. You've been sneaking up here, haven't you? Haven't you?" She started moving toward Ron, when Harry intervened.

"That's not why we're here," he said, holding them apart. "Geesh, you'd think you were married already." His eyes danced toward Gabriella's for but an instant. "Just… sit down." Everyone obliged. Harry brightened the candles floating in the corners and leaned back against the wall.

"I'm leaving," he said briskly.

"WE'RE leaving," corrected Gabriella.

"_You're_ staying here," corrected Harry. "It's too—"

"Too dangerous?" she snapped. "You think I don't understand danger?" She took to her feet. "I knew danger before you knew you were a wizard! Don't lecture me about—"

"Going where?" said Ron, raising his voice above the growing din.

"I'm going to Greece."

"_WE_ are going to Greece," snapped Gabriella.

"Greece?"

"But the war," said Hermione with concern. "The Olympian Academy… you can't think you're going to battle again. You've done enough already."

"He's alive, Hermione, because of my blood," said Harry, his voice darkening. "Whatever part of him that's still alive needs it again, only the darkness he touched me with when I was a baby no longer flows through my veins. I was cleansed by the falls, so he's finished trying to seek immortality through me, but that hasn't stopped him from searching for another source of Potter blood."

"Jamie," whispered Hermione.

"Who's Jamie?" asked Patrick. Hermione shot Harry a look and he nodded in return.

"Tell him," he said.

"Harry has a son," she said quietly. "His name is Jamie, after Harry's father James." Patrick just looked at Harry with astonished eyes.

"And he's in Greece?" asked Patrick with a bit of excitement in his voice. "Where?"

A bit ashamed, Harry couldn't hold Patrick's gaze. Instead, he looked away and found a rather soured expression on Gabriella's face. "Fine! You can go!" he said. But she did not acknowledge his words. Rather, she looked about the room, as if searching for something that was causing an offensive odor. Ron noticed her expression as well.

"Dean had a bit too much to drink last time we were here," said Ron and then he looked at Harry. "I thought you got all that up."

"Ron!" chided Hermione.

"It wasn't me!"

"Oh, right. I'm sure you were an angel."

"Look," said Harry cutting in before they could gather up too much steam. He wasn't feeling well and was irritated for not having left an hour ago. "I should be back before breakfast. If I'm not…" he hesitated, "…if I'm not, you've got to be ready. Tomorrow morning you'll need to assemble the DA. They have to be ready for an attack on Hogwarts." He flipped his summoning coin to Hermione.

"But—"

"I'm not saying it's going to happen, I'm just saying you have to be ready. And don't plan on Dumbledore to help you. He's… He's dying."

"Dyin'!" cried Patrick. "That ain't possible. He can't… What happened?"

"Old age," said Gabriella, almost as an off hand remark. She was standing in the far corner of the room still looking for something, only now her wand was drawn."

"Are you sure, mate?"

"He told us himself. But don't tell the rest, not yet at least."

"I can't believe it," Hermione whispered to herself. She looked pale. "If they find out, they're sure to center their sites here. Voldemort's always wanted—"

"That's why you can't tell anyone and why you have to be ready while I'm gone," said Harry with a stern voice. Perspiration was beginning to prickle on his forehead. He was really not feeling well. "Voldemort's attacking Greece to find Jamie. He needs him to bring himself back. I'm not going to let that happen. I… _WE_ are going to go get him out of there and bring him back."

"Back?" asked Patrick.

"Yes," answered Harry. "But, while we're away, I still need to fulfill my pledge to protect the Centaurs. If there's an attack, I need to know you'll help. I need to know you'll _all_ help." He looked at Patrick. "Will you?"

"As if we were brothers, Harry," said Patrick, rising to his feet, but not stepping closer. "Sorry fer what I said before. Yeh know me, I've got yer back." Exhausted, Harry slapped Patrick's shoulder and smiled.

Hermione stood up and took Harry by the hand. "We'll take care of things while you're gone. Don't worry."

"Come on, Gab," said Harry. "You wanted to go. Let's go." Gabriella scanned the room once more and slipped her wand away.

"There is something not right here, Harry."

Ron stood up, swiping one of his fingers across the table, only to find it perfectly clean. He said, "I'll have one of the house elves give the place a total scrub down before you get back."

"Ron," scolded Hermione.

"What? They like that sort of stuff."

"Don't think for a minute—" Before Hermione finished, Gabriella climbed upon Harry's broom, held him by the waist, and they were both through the red curtain and back to normal size, flying high above the castle grounds.

The night air was refreshing and Harry could feel it clean the cobwebs that were beginning to encroach upon his mind.

"It's gone," whispered Gabriella from behind him.

"What's gone?" asked Harry.

"I'm not sure," she said. "But I can sense the change in you, just as I sense that I can once more breathe the fresh air again."

"Probably everyone's emotions about Dumbledore," he said. He leaned forward on his broom, willing it faster, and the broom responded, forcing Gabriella to tighten her grip about Harry's waist. He smiled, but her face still bore an expression of concern.

"Perhaps," she whispered. "Perhaps."


	29. The Road Divides

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 29 –**** The Road Divides**

It was late and her feet hurt. Damn heels. Why had she let Lavender convince her to practice wearing heals for her wedding? For some reason, the long climb from the castle entrance to the Gryffindor tower was more exhausting this time than ever before. As soon as the three made their way back to the Gryffindor common room it was all she could do to pull off her shoes, peck Ron on the cheek, and say goodnight to both him and Patrick. Her eyes were concerned and Ron noticed.

"He'll be fine," he said in a strong, confident voice. "You'll see."

She loved that about him – his ability to find the smallest hint of light in the darkest of times. She'd seen his confidence and bravery grow every year, and his loyalty, as always, was unfailing. He would defend her to the end, as he would Harry, and he would never leave her side. She would very much love being Mrs. Ronald Weasley.

"I know," she whispered, with less confidence. Something was gnawing on her – perhaps the way Gabriella was behaving before she and Harry left. Every time she thought her mind might get around what it might be—

"We'll see 'em all before the cock crows," said Patrick, patting her on the shoulder. He was smiling at her, as fresh as if her were ready to face a new day. _Perhaps all the excitement,_ she thought. It was understandable after all. She'd seen Patrick and Harry pal around quite a bit last year and, when things changed this year, she surmised it was just that Patrick had found someone else his own age to befriend. When James turned out to be… well, it was hard on everybody. She was happy to see that Harry had taken the extra effort to make it up to the second year. He'd been a bit of an arse, as had everyone else, forcing Patrick into almost an isolation. He was always alone everywhere he went. She was glad to see, with James' triumphant return, that that would be changing.

"You bet!" she said, forcing a great smile and returning Patrick's pat. She turned to Ron and let out a long, deep breath. "You know, I believe I'll stay here for a smidgen, maybe read a book. I need some time to think." Ron looked at her, then at Patrick.

"Erm, yeah. Sure. Patrick, how 'bout you head off to bed. We've got a busy day tomorrow, whether he comes back on time or not."

"Yer right!" said Patrick brightly. "Don't know if I'll be able teh sleep, but I'll try. I can't believe, we're gonna be getting' ready fer war."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Not something we really want' to be thinking is a good thing, eh? Before the next new moon, some of your friends might be dead." Patrick's face fell and his expression grew more sombre.

"Of course, Ron," he said. "I didn't mean it like that." Then the smallest smile cracked his lips. "But, maybe later, you and I can get together and yeh can give me a few pointers on how we'll take a hell of a lot more of them with us before we go!"

"Let's trust that it doesn't come to that, Patrick," said Hermione. "We can hope, at least. Goodnight." The tone of this last word told him it was time to leave and he didn't complain.

"'night."

Patrick jumped up the circular staircase, two steps at a time, and disappeared into the boys' dormitory. Ron put his arm about Hermione.

"We'll he's eager at least," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"Maybe too eager," replied Hermione. She sighed and turned to face the fire, pulling Ron gently by the hand to sit in the small couch. The fire felt good against her skin, warming against the night's chill air. She hated having to fly tonight, but here, with Ron, she felt, for the moment at least, safe and secure. Yet, there was a loose thread that needed to be stitched and she wasn't quite sure how to do it. She patted the cushion next to her. "Sit with me?"

"Like, no, is an answer?" said Ron with a smile. He sat next to his fiancé.

She watched the golden flames flicker against the blackened fireplace and smiled to herself, remembering how she originally felt when she stood in front of the hearth on the first day of school. It had been raining outside, but the day was warm and inside was warmer. They had feasted and made their way up the moving staircases. She chuckled, thinking about how out of shape she was back then, how winded that climb made her feel. When she had entered the Gryffindor common room, perspiration was dripping down her temples. The windows were shut tight against the rain and the result was a stifling common room filled with stale air. She had wondered why anyone in their right mind would have a fire roaring on such a hot day. But when she had stepped in front of the flames, they weren't hot. She remembered how astonished she had been that the fires of Hogwarts had not been discussed in any of the books she had read. Now, she understood why. It was unimaginable to think of not having the fire in the Gryffindor common room lit, glowing brightly all year round, offering warmth in winter, light enough at night to read by, and, perhaps most importantly of all, if you knew the right spell and had the right ingredients, a way to always communicate to the outside world.

"Something's not right," she said, leaning her head against Ron's shoulder. "The way Gabriella was looking around. That was just… well, weird. I wish she'd just say what she was sensing."

"Well _you_ asked that we not—" Hermione sat upright and looked Ron in the eyes.

"Oh, so now it's my fault?"

"I'm just saying, she was keeping mum until she was sure. And she wasn't sure."

"And you?" Hermione asked. "Did you _pick-up_ anything?"

"We weren't alone, if that's what you mean," Ron said, leaning his head against the back of the couch – the result being that he now looked straight up at the ceiling. She liked that he had let his hair grow, and she couldn't help but stroke it as it dangled down over the back of the couch. "But I get that all the time. There are house elves and ghosts and other strange creatures all through the castle. It's hard to say how close, but there's always someone or something close by." He closed his eyes and the muscles on his left cheek twitched.

"There," said Ron, leaning across Hermione and pointing to a carpet near a table where students did homework in the common room. "There's a house elf below the floor, waiting for us to get out of here so she can start cleaning again." He fell back against the couch and rubbed his temples. "It's not just house elves that creep around," he whispered, instinctively pulling his feet up off the floor and curling his legs on the couch.

"Creep?" Hermione looked at Ron, and then to the floor, then back at Ron.

"I'm not going to tell you," he said. "You'll just… well, I'm not going to tell you."

She looked at Ron for a long while, but decided now was not the time. They were both tired, but she knew that neither of them would sleep until their friend returned safely in the morning.

"And in the Marauders' Eye?" she asked quietly. "What did you—"

"I didn't look," he interrupted. "I told you, I get that stuff all the time." His hand fluttered up by his head and flopped down at his side. "If I looked every time…" He stopped himself, slowly shaking his head, and absentmindedly rubbed his ankles.

"Well, Gabriella sensed more than a house elf in the wall," said Hermione. She got up off the couch and crouched at the edge of the fire. Then, she reached into her pocked, pulled out a pinch of floo powder, and sprinkled it over the flames. "_Aperito!_ Number five, Privet Drive," she whispered.

"Remus?" Ron asked, leaning forward.

"Like I said, something's not right," she grumbled, looking back at Ron over her shoulder. "Remus needs to know there are pieces in play before he gets here."

"He's not going to be happy to hear Harry left Hogwarts without telling anyone. And Harry's not going to like that you told Remus behind his back."

"No," said Hermione. "No, he's not, but we've got to tell him. It's our job to watch Harry's back, since he won't watch his own." The flames grew green and a _wooshing_ sound signalled that the connection had been made. She leaned her head into the fire. When she opened her eyes, she was looking out into the Darbinyan living room. Remus had been staying with Soseh and it appeared that that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Whether they were to marry or not was uncertain, but everyone knew they were in love.

"Remus," she called out, hoping her voice would carry to the upper story. "Remus!"

It took a few minutes before she could hear the sound of footsteps above the crackling of the fire in her ears. Remus appeared at the stairs, wand drawn.

"Remus, it's me," she said more quietly.

"Hermione?" he asked, still holding his wand up. "It's the middle of the night. What is it? What's happened?" His voice was elevated, concerned. He knelt at the fire to speak with her.

"Harry's gone to Greece," she told him.

"What?" he exclaimed. "Why? To fight? Surely he would have—"

"To rescue his son," Hermione interrupted. Looking like someone just kicked him in the gut, Remus fell back on his rear. His expression told Hermione at once that he didn't know. She described what she knew, telling Remus about Jamie, Cho and Anthony. She explained Voldemort's plans as best she could.

"So they're with Sirius," he said with a bit of irritation in his words. "Figures they'd be at his castle, at… erm… We were just there a few months ago, all of us. It's at… I can't remember." Sirius looked up at the glowing head of Hermione within his fireplace. "He's made it unplottable. The Secret Keeper. That Harry could keep even me from seeing where my best friend's castle is… that… that's amazing." He let out a slow breath and his mind seemed to wander for a moment. "When Soseh first told me, I didn't believe her. Now… it's hard to deny. I'm sure glad he's his mother's son."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. Remus cleared his head with a short shake.

"With the powers he's developing, he could… Well, it doesn't matter. Look, there are already a few members of the Order in Greece. I'll send some others now we know what Voldemort's target is and I'll let Arthur know what's happening. That's all we can do until he shows up there or returns to Hogwarts Castle."

"Remus," said Hermione, "there may be more. Something's going on at the castle." She relayed what Gabriella was doing in the Marauder's Eye and that she had her own concerns. Remus sat for a moment, thinking. He slipped his wand away and leaned in close.

"How well do you know Patrick?" he asked. "Wasn't he under Voldemort's Imperious Curse when he had control of James?"

"Harry trusts him," she said. "I don't see how—"

"Voldemort was on the castle grounds just yesterday, Hermione. He had control of Gabriella."

"No!"

"I spoke with Albus just a few hours ago. I think, perhaps, he knew what Harry was up to, but he didn't tell me about Harry's son. They believe that Voldemort extracted the information he needed and left Hogwarts. Perhaps he escaped with the knowledge that what he needs is in Greece. You tell me that his target is Harry's son, Jamie. So now Harry thinks, as does the Headmaster, that Voldemort is in Greece to find Harry's son. But what if he's not? What if it's a ruse to get Harry away? What if Voldemort's still in the castle?"

"But Professor Dumbledore… surely he would know if—"

"He's lost his Legilemency," interrupted Remus. "He's losing many of his abilities, Hermione. It won't be long until we've lost him completely."

"Then Harry would be bringing Jamie straight back into Voldemort's clutches!"

"Exactly," said Remus. He took to his feet. "Hermione, I'll be at the castle by sunrise. You've got to keep an eye out for anything unusual. Someone should watch Patrick, but don't do anything stupid. If he is being controlled by Voldemort, we'll have lost any chance we have to set things right. As soon as you can, let Severus know. He may be able to sense his old master's presence." Hermione nodded her head; ash and amber spilt out onto the hearth.

"And, Hermione," added Remus. "Be careful. You know what he's capable of. He'll sooner kill you as not."

"I understand," answered Hermione. "I'll see you later this morning."

She pulled away from the flames and found herself, all of herself, back in the Gryffindor common room. She shook the ash from her hair and looked over to find Ron asleep on the couch. She was about to slap him when he spoke.

"So, what did he say?" he asked with his eyes still closed, a curl of red hair wrapped across his face.

"He thinks Voldemort's still here," she answered. Ron's eyes opened wide.

"What do you mean, here? Like here, here?"

She told him what Remus had said, her eyes darting up the stairs when she spoke about Patrick.

"That's just silly," he said. "Patrick wouldn't—"

"Neither would James Chang," she interrupted. "But Voldemort never gave him the choice." Ron's eyes narrowed as his hands gripped the armrest of the couch until his fingers began to push through the fabric and into the foam cushion underneath.

"There's one way to find out," he said, pulling out his wand.

"No!" exclaimed Hermione breathlessly. "We have to just watch. Don't let him know that you think it might be him."

"But—"

"Ron, it's too dangerous. He'll kill you. He'll kill anybody that stands in his way." She took him by the hand, knowing that he'd rather take action. Still, she had to try and convince him to wait. It wouldn't be easy. "Since I can walk the halls after hours, I'll go speak with Snape. Just stay here, wait for Harry, and make sure Patrick, or anyone else for that matter, doesn't try to wander out." Ron looked like he could spit venom. If he had been tired earlier, there was no trace of it on his face now.

"Sit on my arse, when the wizard that killed my mother might be upstairs napping?" he spat.

"Would you risk Patrick's life or the lives of the other second years sleeping with him?" Ron did not answer. "Just let me speak with Snape. Twenty minutes, that's all I ask. Please?"

She could see him biting his cheek, mulling over a decision he didn't want to make. He could also feel his thoughts brush with hers.

"Fine!" he blurted. "Twenty minutes." He crossed his arms and legs and hunched his shoulders. Hermione smiled and stood.

"Patrick would be devastated if you confronted him and were wrong. It's even possible that Voldemort may not even be in the castle, Ron. It's just Remus' hunch."

"And yours, right?" Ron asked. Hermione looked at the fire, the flames flickering off her fair complexion, and slowly nodded. "My money's on you, Hermione," said Ron glumly. "I wish it wasn't, but it is. It always has been."

She leaned down and kissed him, stroking his hair between her fingers. Cheek to cheek she took in a deep breath. She loved his smell, and wished they could just curl up together and let the world pass them by. She stayed there, holding the moment, and then finally kissed his neck.

"I'll be right back," she whispered. "Maybe… maybe this time I'm wrong."

She walked over to the common room entrance and disappeared out into the darkened corridor, leaving Ron alone. The Fat Lady barely stirred in her portrait as Hermione continued on her way. Half way down to the dungeons, Peeves appeared chattering some silly rhyme.

"Who's afoot? Who's afoot? I'm sure they'll find they'll soon by—" He halted as soon as he saw Hermione with her glowing wand. Without saying another word, he disappeared through the wall. Under other circumstances, Hermione might have smiled knowing that the poltergeist now feared her since their last encounter. Tonight, she was far too distracted to think about that.

At last, she came to Snape's door and rapped on the wood. She could hear someone stir inside, cursing as they did so. As she waited, her mind turned to Harry in Greece, wondering if he'd already told them of the danger, wondering if they would come willingly or risk staying where they were.

A spell was cast, unlocking the door. It made her heart skip a beat.

Her mind flashed to Ron, alone and angry in the common room. Should she have left him alone? The wooden doors opened and a very dishevelled looking Severus Snape appeared. When he saw who it was, the look upon his face turned from anger to cautioned concern.

"Ms. Granger? What could possibly be wrong at this time of night?"

* * *

It took a moment before Ron noticed that Harry and Gabriella had disappeared through the Marauders' Eye. He was halfway through some argument with Hermione, explaining why she was wrong when the familiar sensation started again. It tended to happen more when he was emotional, not being careful, and so he retracted what he likened to invisible neuro-fibroids.

Last year his mind reached out and touched everything and everyone that was near him, sending flashes of memories and feelings streaming uncontrollably into his brain. It had grown so bad that he had actually considered suicide, rather than live with the pain caused by the torrent of information and emotions flooding every waking moment of his consciousness. And even though Madame Pomfrey had helped curb the sensations, it wasn't until he'd been taken by Harry to the falls of the Forbidden Forest and fallen in to, or been grabbed by, the water that he was truly free of the curse that had ravaged his mind.

He turned his back on Hermione and tossed his hands high into the air. "Great!" he cried. "They're gone!" He faced Hermione once again. "I had a dozen questions and now he's gone. For example, what are they going to do when—"

"Not to worry, mate," said Patrick brightly. "He'll be back before the morning sausages." For whatever reason, Patrick's comment irritated Ron. He was about to tell him that they weren't mates, and he'd best keep his tongue in his mouth before—"

"Patrick's right, Ron," said Hermione with a steadier voice than she had but a moment before. "It's best that we get some rest so that we're ready for when they return." The words did not make Ron any happier, but his focus on Patrick was distracted long enough for him to settle down.

"Sure," he conceded. "Let's get out of here." He grabbed his broom and the other two hopped on. They were moving out through the red eye, when he heard whispers in his ear that came from nowhere.

"_Soon. I'll have him__ in my—"_

"_Help me…"_

When they emerged on the other side, he asked, "Did you hear that? A voice, or voices, or something?"

"Only that slurping sound," answered Hermione. "Why, what's wrong?"

Ron stuck his finger in his ear and scratched. "Just tired, I guess."

He was indeed tired. As if school wasn't draining enough, Quidditch practice lasted an extra hour. With Harry gone, he needed to be sure that Dennis could handle Seeker, if it came to that on game day. He tried to catch a few winks after dinner, but Hermione wanted to discuss floral arrangements for the wedding. He couldn't understand why she thought he cared, but he was forced to participate in every decision. There were only two he cared about after the "I do's." First, that there would be a live band at the reception that could seriously rock the Wizarding world, and second, that there would be plenty of Irish ale on hand. Fred and George were handling both, so Ron had nothing more to concern himself with. If only Hermione could see it that way.

By the time the three made it into the common room, he wanted to just drop on the floor and sleep, but he knew that he wouldn't. He'd wait for Harry to return, and if he didn't, he'd prepare for war. He'd gotten a small boost of energy when Patrick left for the night, but it began to fade as Hermione continued to rat out poor Harry to Remus through the floo. He leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes, thinking about how Hermione's theories were almost always right. Something was wrong, but whatever it was Ron certainly couldn't cipher it out – not the way his brain was muddled right now. Instead he let his thoughts turn to Quidditch. He was analyzing one of Ginny's moves above the pitch, when he heard Hermione pull out from the flames.

"So, what did he say?" he asked with his eyes still closed.

"He thinks Voldemort's still here," she answered. Ron couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't fear that opened his eyes wide, but hope. The Dark Lord's name held no power over him now. As far as Ron was concerned, Voldemort was the wizard that had killed his mother, nothing more, nothing less, and, given the opportunity, Ron would destroy him. He could feel the fire begin to burn in his belly, anger growing, hatred rising.

When she told him it might be Patrick, Ron's first urge was to climb the stairs and blast him in his bed. He'd figure out the rest later. But Hermione's cautions forced him to steady his emotions and think farther ahead. He loved that about her, the calming effect she had that balanced his instincts to be purely reactive. He was always much more effective in all aspects of his life, if he would simply take the time to think two, or even three, steps ahead. He was, after all, the Hogwarts Wizard Chess Champion two years running.

"Twenty minutes," said Ron, finally agreeing to his fiancé. "If you're not back by then, I'll have figured out myself what to do." They hugged and he took in the hint of flowers that always followed her where ever she went. He loved that scent, the brush of her hair against his cheek, the confidence she held in whatever decision she made… even if she was a bit misguided on occasion.

When she left the common room to go get Snape, Ron began to pace.

"Lumos!" he called, lighting his wand. He'd take a few steps. "Nox."

He stopped on the carpet that he had earlier pointed out to Hermione and looked down. He hadn't done this for a long time, at least not on purpose. He reached out his mind. The house elf was gone. _Probably overheard us and ran,_ thought Ron. He reached further just to see if the elf was still around.

"_Help me.__ Let me—"_

There was a stabbing pain in Ron's head and he immediately drew back to within himself. The voice… it was the same he'd heard earlier in the Marauders' Eye, only this time it sounded familiar.

"Patrick?" Ron whispered to himself.

"Hey mate! I couldn't sleep either!"

Ron spun to find Patrick, dressed in his school robes, at the top of the staircase. Ron fingered the wand that was still in his fingers. "Something wrong?" he asked with dubious eyes.

"Nah," answered Patrick with a hushed voice as he eased his way down the staircase. "I'm just too excited. If everythin' goes well, he could be back at any moment." He flopped down in one of the overstuffed chairs. Ron noted that he was still wearing his boots from earlier. "Where do yeh think he'll bring them when they get here?"

Ron shrugged. They'd forgotten to discuss that part. Where ever was safest he figured. But where would that be? "Dumbledore's office, I guess," he replied, not really sure.

"Yeh think? With old Dumbledore almost ready to kick it?"

"Don't say it like that!" snapped Ron, irritated by the disrespect in Patrick's voice.

"Sorry," replied Patrick with a humbler tone that was clearly a bit forced. "You ever been?" he asked. "In the old ma— erm, headmaster's office? Should we go there to see if he's ready?"

"Yes," said Ron stiffly, "I've been there, and, no, we don't need to go see if he's ready. He'll be ready if he needs to be. Besides if someone needs to get in to see him, it'd best be Hermione. She's Head Girl."

Patrick's eyes grew distant for a moment. He was nervously pulling on his ear, thinking about something. As Ron watched him fidget the fire glinted off Patrick's eyes, casting them with a red glimmering hue. It was as if someone had poured ice water down Ron's back and lit his stomach on fire. He was sure as he could ever be that Voldemort was sitting before him.

"Where's Hermione?" Patrick asked finally.

"Upstairs, in bed," Ron lied.

"Funny, I didn't see her."

"Not unusual for a second year to miss a few things."

Patrick stood. Ron's grip tightened about his wand.

"Nope, I guess not. I just figured Hermione to be the last to wander off to sleep on a night like tonight." Patrick moved closer to Ron. "Chess?" he asked, pointing to the Wizard's Chess board that was set out on the table.

Ron didn't answer. He really, really wanted to know and the best way to find out was to reach in. He opened his mind and reached for Patrick's. There was, at first, a slight resistance, almost as if Patrick knew he was being probed. That was rare in most people and it did not go unnoticed by Ron.

The initial images flashing into Ron's mind came from Patrick's memories, not all of them good: The accident that killed his parents, the night he was taken control of by Voldemort. There was the night he first met Harry, and at this memory he heard it again.

"_Help me!"_

It was distant and yet near. Ron pressed deeper, but beyond the impassioned plea, something else was bothering him. Normally, he should be sensing emotions; he should be able to tell immediately if Patrick was excited, scared, or deceitful. None of that was here. All this he noticed in less time than it takes Professor McGonagall to transform into a cat. As he moved on he came to what appeared to be a wall, something baring his way. He'd run up against this with Harry and, on occasion, found ways around them. He was now more certain than ever that Voldemort was in here somewhere.

He probed a few places and then found a weakness. He pushed against it. There was resistance. He pushed harder. The barrier gave way, but as if Ron had stumbled across a weak spot on a frozen lake of ice, he found himself, slipping, falling, uncontrollably inward, sucked into a vortex from which he could not escape. He tried to pull away, to retract his penetration, but Patrick's mind held fast. It was then that he first felt the emotion – odium, pure hatred and revulsion.

There was laughter, slow and quiet at first, but it built into a high, proud voice.

"_Finally! You are mine!"_

"_Let __'im go!"_

"_SILENCE!"_

Ron could feel the pain, the pain Voldemort was using to punish Patrick for trying to exert his own will. Then Voldemort's thoughts turned to Ron and immediately the redhead tried to shield his mind. Initially, it worked, and all Voldemort could do was continue to bind their minds and speak his own.

"I… I feel as if we've met before – another life perhaps." The voice was genial, friendly, but Ron knew better than to lose his concentration. "I was right to wait. I've wanted you for some time, but I knew better than to cast a spell, or, worse, battle your mental powers on your home turf. No, I had to wait, bide my time, and here you are. Welcome to my vessel, humble, yet sufficient to bring Potter to his ruin." Ron tried once more to pull away, but was held fast. He could feel Voldemort's thoughts swirling, snakelike about his own, searching for their own way to penetrate Ron's defences.

"Formidable," Voldemort whispered. "But I need you my young friend. I've waited too long to find you away from her, away from your friends, willing to probe my thoughts.

"The feint on Greece has successfully convinced Harry to bring his son here. Within the hour he will miraculously battle his way through Lucius' army and escape with the boy. But we must be ready for him when he arrives and certain people need to be… dealt with.

"First we will kill Dumbledore, after you get your filthy mudblood girlfriend to help us. Then, when he returns, Harry will be slain by his own best friend for cheating with your fiancé. You will bring his son, my blood, to me. Soon I'll have destroyed them all." There was a pain, sharp and steady at Ron's temples. "We'll destroy them all, you and I.

"Wormtail has been little more than useless this past year. But you… you show promise. If you make this easy, I may find a place for you, a place of high power, once I've regained my former self."

"Go… to… _HELL!_" Ron screamed back. The outburst of emotion distracted Ron's mind only momentarily from his steady defence, but it was all that the Dark Lord needed.

"We'll go together!" Voldemort excitedly cried in a cold, clear voice. _"Imperio!"_


	30. Absolute Power

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****30 – Absolute Power**

~~~***~~~

When Gabriella arrived upon the beach of the Island of Kefallinia, her first sensation was warmth. She and Harry had left the frigid weather of Hogsmeade just as it had begun to snow and Apparated across the Channel. In France, the Paris air was still chilled. Staying warm on Harry's broom, they flew for awhile and then Apparated again to Greece; this time the warmer Mediterranean air wrapped her in its arms welcoming her home. Finally, she could take off her scarf. With a wave of her wand, it vanished and her boots fell at her side, freeing her feet to walk the beach bare.

Gabriella was born in the mountains of Armenia and while she loved the rugged and earthy terrain of her birthplace, the land where her grandmother still lived, she was more at home with the sea. The gritty feel of sand between her toes, the tangy taste of salt in the ocean's breath, the ebb and flow of the ocean's waves, and the warmth and passion of the man she loved had converged on one spot and, for a moment, her mind wandered to the summer before, when times were happier, when _watching_ was easier. She smiled.

"What's that for?" Harry asked with beautiful green eyes and a glowing smile of his own. She could sense that he was feeling the same joy and memories of the summer before.

"This?" she asked in return, pointing at her face. Gabriella reached over and took Harry's hand. She pulled him close and held him tight. "I wish…" she began in a quiet whisper. "I wish we didn't have to be here, but we are, and I'm so glad we're here together." She gently kissed his ear and he flinched from the tickle. "Hmmm… I think I've found another spot. That's three now that belong to only me." She kissed his ear again and Harry pulled back a bit to look her in the eyes.

"Three?" he asked incredulously. "Thirty-three's more like and that's only counting the surface of my skin. If I had to—"

Gabriella suddenly shuddered in his arms. An arctic blast shot across her mind, clear and cold – a vision of red and then of black. It was a sensation she knew all too well. It was Voldemort and he was punishing someone… someone dear. Her breathing quickened, as did the pace of her heart, while the image of torture, defiance and pain continued.

"Gab?" Harry called. "GAB?" he yelled. But she would not respond; her mind had been torn away. Someone was calling to her, yelling for help in one final attempt to—

The vision ended and she collapsed in Harry's arms. Perspiration beaded upon her head, but her bones felt cold, more fatigued than if she'd just climbed Olympus. Harry continued to speak, but her mind was not yet processing it. Instead, she was trying to take in what she had seen, what it meant. Save for her nightmare, she had never had so vivid a vision in her life. What did it mean? "Red," she whispered, trying to pull the memory back into her mind and assemble it with the disjoint pieces.

Her mother had taught her how to reassemble the fractured collections that often came with visions, even though Gabriella never showed any signs of being so gifted.

"Maybe… maybe because I was his host… maybe we were linked," she muttered to herself. But while that sounded right, it didn't feel right. It would mean there was a part of him still left in her, some sort of impression he had left behind, but the connection she felt wasn't of Voldemort; it didn't originate with him. She had heard another voice, fair and familiar. Someone calling. Red? "Blood?" she whispered contemplating the possibility, but then rejected it. _"No."_

"Gabriella, can you hear me?" Harry asked again, giving her a bit of a shake. It was enough to snap her from her trance, if that's what it was, and, for the first time, she heard his words.

"Harry?" she asked looking back into his eyes.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"I… I had a vision," she replied quietly. "I think," she added with uncertainty.

"But I thought you couldn't—"

"I can't. At least, I thought—" Her body stiffened; she was anxious once more. She waved her wand and her boots were back on her feet. "We have to hurry!"

"Why?"

"Voldemort. I think… I think he's attacking someone, someone right now, someone I care deeply about. I saw red."

"Blood?"

"Or his eyes. His…" She shuddered. "…eyes." There was a pause. "Someone was calling for help, or—"

"They may already be at Sirius' castle!" cried Harry. A cold tingle cascaded down her spine – so much for warm and tender moments.

She looked up at the eastern sky as he ran across the sand to get his broom. Sirius' castle was still over a hundred miles away, but it was too dangerous to Apparate in. Voldemort's army could be anywhere in their search to find the Black Estate. From here on out, the two of them needed to move in slowly and that meant they had to fly. If the castle was already under attack, they'd never make it in time. She pondered, for only a moment, calling to the dragon, beseeching him for aid, but as her eyes scanned the distant horizon she did not see weather that would portend a great battle. Surely such a sign would hang in the early morning light, but none was to be seen. She pulled in a deep breath to settle her nerves. Perhaps her apprehension was causing unwarranted fears. Knowing what Mama would say, she kicked the earth, cursing herself for her own ignorance; clearly she had the signs wrong.

Her eyes fell back on Harry as he ran toward her, broom in hand. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. She knew what he was doing, looking at her, wondering if by chance she was still possessed or held under the control of Voldemort. She understood; she almost wondered herself what had just happened and, when he opened his eyes and came toward her with a look of relief, the same expression crossed her own face. She was, at least, free of that madness.

She dropped her head, staring at the sand. Why was she here? It was, what she was doing, foolish. If the battle was at hand, Harry would need to slip in quickly and by stealth. Her presence would make it that much easier for the two of them to be found. Her weight would slow his progress on the broom, threatening Harry's mission. She shook her head to gather her nerves, but when she reached up to hold Harry's shoulder as she mounted his broom, her fingers were trembling.

Her center was tearing. Duty, honor, a bloodline of a hundred generations… they were calling on her to use her own eyes, to watch the wielding of the stone as time unfolded. She shook her head to clear the voices of her ancestors calling to her. She knew the man before her. He would never… No. It was her duty to be sure that Harry—

"You okay?" he said with concern, gently holding her by the arm.

"I… I should stay," she said in a hollow voice. "You could be there in far less time without my weight." She moved to get off the broom. "I'll Apparate back to—" Harry grabbed her.

"Not a chance. I won't lose you again. Hold tight," he said sharply. If he was smiles before, he was deadly serious now. There was no mirth in his voice and, as they rose together above the sea, the sun beginning to peak above the horizon, there was no joy. It was a beautifully terrible moment – a blood red sun rising in the east and, with it, at least to Gabriella's eyes, the likelihood of death.

"The coming sun will play to our favor," she said with a tremor in her voice. "I don't much care to see the likes of Draco, or his ilk."

"No. I don't either," he said, staring straight. There was a pause and Gabriella could sense the familiar struggle rising up within Harry once again. His feelings, she knew, were quite conflicted when it came to Draco. It stewed for so long she began to regret mentioning their good fortune in timing. Finally, his thoughts cleared, focusing instead on what he must do. "Do you remember anything else?" he asked as they streaked across the sky, high above the Gulf of Corinth.

"I didn't _see_ much of anything. It wasn't that sort of vision. It was more like feelings, jangled strips of emotions, each trying to say something. I need to try to piece them together, but I don't know if I can. Mama has the gift, not me."

"And Voldemort… you're sure it was Voldemort?"

Fear began to wrap itself about her heart. Even though the two were alone as they flew high above the waters below, she looked behind to see if, perhaps, they were being followed. "Y-Yes, I'm sure, and I'm… I'm also sure that he was angry." She spit toward the distant ground below for feeling so afraid, and then held tight to Harry's waist and squeezed, drawing strength from his confidence.

She remembered back to the end of summer, when Harry first crossed into Singehorn's lands. She was so torn, feeling his fear and forcing herself to pretend that she didn't care. Yet, that too was her duty. He had grown so much these last few months. He was more afraid of Snape's exams than he was of the deadly dangers that lurked about every corner. His mind was fixed on the well being of others, and he would risk his own life to see to their safety. More than anything else, she loved that quality of self-sacrifice within him, but she also worried about the recklessness of his actions. He rarely took time to measure the consequences, or to meter the possibilities. With the powers he now had at his fingertips, such choices would have far greater consequences; they would reach beyond Harry and touch others if he wasn't careful. Mama was right; it had grown more complicated. Perhaps it was because she had lost her heart to Harry long ago, but Gabriella never expected the entanglements between love and duty to become so complex so quickly.

Wishing she could share her thoughts with Harry, Gabriella closed her eyes, leaned her head against his back and drew in a long breath of the early morning air. After a moment she added, "Whomever he was trying to control was fighting back, refusing to obey." Dwelling upon the mental battle that she sensed being put up against Voldemort, she noted to herself that she wasn't nearly as successful at repelling the Dark Lord's will when he had attacked her.

"There aren't many that could take him on like that," said Harry, scratching the back of his head, not realizing the fear she held inside. "I don't think Cho could, maybe Sirius."

"Or, if they've found the castle, another member of the Order. Mad Eye maybe?" She knew before the words left her lips that they were wrong. She had sensed that it was a friend, someone she cared about. Maybe it _was_ Cho.

Not knowing her thoughts, Harry nodded, trying to will his broom faster, but it was already rushing through the air at full speed. In a matter of seconds, they crossed over the Corinth Canal and out over the Saronic Gulf. The water below glimmered, a bejewelled breastplate with each island a spectacular jade or granite stone rimmed in emerald green. She was about to say they should slow down when Harry pulled back on his broom and began to descend. They would reach the castle soon and from here they needed to move in with even greater vigilance. Maybe he had tempered his recklessness after all.

They were less then twenty miles away from the castle when she saw the smoke to the north. A low, dark fog that spanned the horizon, she wondered if it didn't reach from coast to coast. But this was no fog.

"Fires?" she asked.

"Dementors," Harry replied coldly. "It's what it looked like over the Carpathians – a thick, black cloud of hatred. If there's enough to blot out the sun, then you can bet that there will be no reprieve from vampires."

Gabriella couldn't believe her eyes. It was a line that stretched tens of miles from side to side; a dark band hovered above the treetops. She was certain it was smoke, but she was more certain that Harry was telling the truth. She began to sense the darkness, the cold, the sorrow as they flew closer. It was a tempest of despair; she swallowed.

"Voldemort must have summoned them from all across Europe," she said breathlessly. "There… there are so many. But they're in the middle of their own war, battling the Centaurs. Why would they come to his aid?"

"He's promised them his help," answered Harry. "If they—" He halted and she felt him shiver within her arms.

"What is it, Harry?"

"C-Centaurs. In Greece, there are two great herds. I… I don't know how I know, but… one… one just disappeared. It… it's not possible… is it? A thousand souls just… gone?" Harry leaned forward on his broom, trying to peer into the darkness for some clue as to what had just happened. "The other heard is being attacked! The screams… the little ones. They're being pushed toward the sea. We have to do something!"

The broom suddenly veered from its easterly direction and started north, right into the centre of the cloud of darkness. The sensation was palpable; Gabriella didn't need to ask. Harry was angry and growing more angry by the second. The air around them was so charged she could almost smell it.

"Harry, it's suicide. We can't face them alone."

Without Harry saying a word, the broom shot upward, higher than she thought possible. The change in perspective revealed just how deep the black cloud of Dementors was. The line was wide, spreading like a swarm of giant locusts, but it was not that deep, perhaps a mile across.

"They're sweeping across the country," said Harry, "looking for Jamie. Centaurs are just a bonus." He pointed down and to his right toward a small patch of green earth that stood out against the surrounding whiteness. "They've yet to reach the castle, but it won't be long."

Gabriella looked down to find the line of darkness only a few miles away from reaching its goal. They might be able to make it to the castle on time, but they'd never be able to gather Cho and the rest before it was too late.

"We don't have enough time," she said.

"We can, if we Apparate."

"From here?"

"Yes, from here!" snapped Harry.

Gabriella looked into his eyes. There was something more, something he wasn't saying, but his anger was masking the other feeling.

"You first," he said. "Focus on the courtyard. I'll follow."

"What is it that you're not—"

"There's no time! GO!"

She was torn; something was wrong. Without saying another word, knowingly denying her duty, Gabriella nodded her head. "Be careful, my love." She placed her hand across his face and pulled her wand. "Asha protect you."

"And also you," he replied, kissing her on the lips.

When Gabriella Apparated onto the courtyard, she found it quiet – too quiet. She opened a large wooden door that led to the main corridor. It creaked loudly. She quieted the hinges with her wand, but still cursed herself for not silencing them sooner. Stepping slowly forward, she found the corridor empty. She stood at the open doorway, waiting for Harry, but knowing that he wouldn't be following her. She was unsure what to do. There was no way to Apparate back; she'd probably appear in the middle of the air. She was about to step back outside, when she heard laughter from within – a child's. The sound pulled her in and down the corridor.

Still holding her wand aloft and following the giggles, Gabriella noticed that the ghosts that usually appeared in every corridor were absent. None were to be found hovering, or passing through walls. She continued to follow the laughter until she came to a door. She knew that it led to one of the larger entertaining chambers. Then, suddenly, Gabriella heard Cho's voice cry out in panic.

"Jamie! NO!"

Gabriella burst through the door, ready to strike. Framed in front of a great wall of glass that faced toward Athens, was Cho, Anthony and little Jamie. Anthony sat, reading a book, apparently unconcerned about the danger they were facing. Jamie was crouched on a small swath of crimson carpet, only it wasn't touching the ground. He was a good six feet in the air and climbing higher. Cho was chasing after him.

"Jamie! Get down here this instant!" Jamie simply laughed again and climbed higher.

Cho's eyes met Gabriella's and they filled with a new kind of concern.

"Gabriella?"

"Cho, Anthony!" cried Gabriella. "It's an attack! They're outside the grounds. Get Jamie and get out of here! Back to England. Back to Hogwarts. Before it's—"

"Gab?" asked Cho. Gabriella stood frozen as she looked past Cho and out through the open window. To the north was the barn where they cared for the Hippogriffs. Beyond it was a rolling fog of black, surging toward them at incredible speed. It was like a giant tidal wave, rising to crash over the top of them. Gabriella took one step toward the window, watching the rolling darkness, readying her wand to cast a spell when her entire view filled with a flash of fiery light. The great glass window imploded. First she felt the heat, then she felt her feet being lifted off the ground. Then, all went dark.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Harry arrived upon the beach of the Island of Kefallinia, his first sensation was that of cold. It was as if hundreds of voices were crying out in fear, but it quickly faded and the sensation passed.

"I hate Apparation," he muttered to himself. Apparating over short distances was bad enough. Passing over hundreds of miles pushed him to his limits. His hands were clammy, his stomach churned, but he was grateful, after traveling over such a distance, that he wasn't splinched into a rock wall.

He watched as Gabriella shed her boots and wandered barefoot toward the water. She stopped and turned back at him with a smile, one he'd come to recognize.

"What's that for?" he asked, walking over to her. Before he knew it, she was tickling his ear and he had to hold her away from him. He loved it, but insisted, "Would you stop—" He never finished. Suddenly, she shuddered in his arms in some sort of seizure.

"GAB!" he cried. She continued to shake, and even after the shaking stopped, she wouldn't respond. "Gab, please!" He was beginning to panic when, finally, she noticed he was calling out to her. And, after she had explained what happened, he began to wonder if that's what people thought of him when his forehead exploded in pain. Instinctively, he moved his hand up to rub the scar that was no longer there.

"We need to hurry! Come on!" he called. He ran and got his broom and then a cold thought shot into his heart. _What if she was still under his control?_ He paused and used his inner eye to see that her aura was singular. When he opened his eyes, he could see that she'd noticed. He wasn't sure what to say.

"You okay?" he asked.

When she looked at him, her eyes showed her warring emotions. She suggested that it would be best if he go alone. He couldn't believe his ears. He'd offended her. There was no way of telling how close to danger they were. For all he knew they were surrounded right now. He'd lost her in France; he wasn't going to lose her in Greece, not here, not ever.

He insisted she come and, once she'd mounted his broom, he flew as fast as he could toward Sirius' castle. As they passed over the Corinth Canal, he began to hear voices cry out to him again. It was then that he realized that the minds screaming inside his head were the voices of Centaurs – stallions, foals, voices of every gender, of every age rose up into a tremendous crescendo and then sharply disappeared into silence. Though he was uncertain what it was he had just sensed, he was nonetheless confident that it had been total genocide, and the ones responsible were now being led by Voldemort towards their true goal, Harry's child. His insides felt frozen, and a sense of anger, a need for retribution began to build within him, rekindling an unnatural warmth to fill the void.

As they approached the castle, Harry slowed his broom, proceeding cautiously. His greater desire was to attack, to exterminate his enemy – immediately. The only thing stopping him was the girl on his broom; he wouldn't put Gabriella in any more danger than necessary. His fickle emotions were challenged more when he saw a black band of fog, rolling in from the north. He knew at once what it was – Dementors being driven forward by Voldemort. Immediately, he turned his broom in their direction, away from the castle and toward the coming darkness.

"Harry, you're crazy!" cried Gabriella. In the beat of a butterfly wing, he'd forgotten she was there. It disturbed him, but not enough to shake his purpose. He wasn't sure what to do… what to do…

Pulling hard on the broomstick, Harry guided their mount higher, straight up into the sky. He needed to see what the Dementors were doing, how far this band of darkness stretched. Down and to the right, he noted that Sirius' castle was as yet unharmed, but it wouldn't be long before it was discovered. He'd never reach the castle in time if they flew; not to do what he needed to do. Even Gabriella knew they were too far away, but for different reasons.

"We don't have enough time," she said, and she was right; there wasn't enough time. Not unless… unless they split up. Gabriella would have to try to save Jamie and the others, while Harry would have the chance to destroy the swarming Dementors that had harmed his _family_. It was an odd sensation, but sincere – yes, the Centaurs were now very much his kin.

"We could Apparate." For an instant, his mind dwelt on the large tapestry back at Hogwarts, showing the annihilation of the Dementors, the annihilation of everything. He looked down. Other than the castle, there were no other settlements in the area. Maybe, if he could control it—

"From here?"

"Yes, from here," he snapped. Why wouldn't she just go? They were running out of time. "You first," he added. "I'll follow."

If she didn't Disapparate soon, the Dementors would be too close to the castle and he might—

"What is it that you're not—"

"There's no time! GO!"

At last, there was a _snap_ and Harry took in a long, slow breath. _Finally,_ he thought. He pulled at his collar; it felt tight, restrictive. He was developing a very Centaur-like disdain for the Dementors moving toward the castle, threatening his family and friends. They had killed. So would he. He would kill them, kill them all; he knew it was within his power. He would Apparate down in their midst and— A tingling, burning sensation brushed against his ear, singed the nape of his neck. His forearm began to glow. He spun to see who was there.

"Singehorn?" Harry exclaimed. The scene had changed. He was no longer flying high in the air, but was instead on a dry, arid plane. The dragon, in his massive human form, stood before him. His yellow eyes glared, not with anger or approval, but with an impassive curiosity.

"Do you have a minute?" the dragon asked as a matter of courtesy with his deep, scratchy voice.

"NOW! But—" Harry stopped himself. In here, in this meeting place of the minds, time stood still. They could converse for what would seem like hours, only to have Harry return back on his broom the instant he left. He nodded to the elder dragon and bowed. "Forgive me."

"We," began the dragon, "are not far away. There are a few of us that have been watching, waiting. These Dementors are wiser. They have avoided our aviaries on the peninsula and have steered clear of our hatchlings."

"But they've killed an entire herd of Centaurs!" protested Harry.

"That is none of our concern."

"What? You can't be serious!"

"I am old, Harry, and have seen many evils in my day. I would not venture to choose which evil I dislike most. It does not pain me to see wizards kill wizards, Dementors kill Centaurs, or… well, I could go on for some time. They all have, for their part, done very little for our kind."

"I'm a wizard," said Harry, stepping closer, almost in defiance. He was still angry over the death of his own, his Centaur kin. For a moment, his inner consciousness questioned why the allegiance was so strong, but the tempering sensation was fleeting and the anger bubbled forth once more. "We have to take action! We have to destroy the Dementors and those leading them!"

"I wonder of such wisdom," said Singehorn crossing his arms and saying nothing more. Not listening, Harry contemplated that with dragon fire he could charge the Heart of Asha far better than if he cast his own Incendio spell.

"The stone… are you near enough?" Harry asked impatiently. "You could recharge it and then I could—" Singehorn chuckled.

"Have you not learned, my child? It does not require it. Since the Joining your fire spells alone have been able to destroy these dark creatures. And it was there that Asha's heart was charged with something far more enduring, far more powerful than fire, Harry. Do you not remember what it was? Would you then use such power to feed your thirst for revenge, to quench your hate?"

"They're murdering vermin! The don't deserve to—"

"Then again," interrupted Singehorn. His demeanour seemed to change, a slight echo of Harry's emotions, and he leaned forward toward the young wizard, his yellow eyes glaring. "Fire does not destroy, Harry. It is, itself, alive. It is purifying. It cleanses all that it touches." Singehorn grinned and his smile revealed long rows of sharp white teeth. There was a glimmer in his eye that was most seducing, and Harry's anger began to ebb to another thought – that the evil outside Sirius castle needed to be cleansed. It wouldn't be murder. It was simply a time for a fresh start, a new beginning.

"Yes," whispered Harry to himself. "Yes, I understand. The war… it must be stopped. The darkness on both sides… I must—"

Harry watched as the _perfectly cleansed_ terrain behind Singehorn, the lifeless desert, faded and then vanished, and he found himself, still hovering on his broom, high in the air. Without hesitation he Apparated into the midst of the Dementors, just north of the castle, as a wave of darkness rolled past the barn where Buckbeak and the other Hippogriffs were usually stabled. For a second, he thought he heard voices… they were arguing.

It was then that he noticed a swirling Patronus, racing past the barn to meet the darkness; then another. A wizard, or wizards, was battling the onslaught from behind. Harry's mind was cloudy, unclear on what exactly he should do. Another long, narrow Patronus passed him, a powerful one, knocking him to the ground. The tumble only served to stoke his rage.

"This war," he muttered to himself. "It must stop!" He held his arms out wide, spanning the line of Dementors flying above him, swirling around him. It was cold, and the sounds of screams were beginning to work their way into his mind. It was then that he noticed a great, green dragon as it roared above his head – Casinius! Harry concentrated, trying to reach his mind to the dragon's.

"_Icendiamos!"_ he cried.

Emanating directly from the stone, hidden within his chest, fire erupted from between his outstretched arms. At the same moment, the dragon spit fire and it was like adding a tanker of propane to an already raging inferno. There was an explosion of heat and power. Harry could hear the screams… the burning, sizzling sounds… the silence. Another dragon, this time a pale blue, roared as it passed on Harry's right – Crestian. He could hear her speaking to him and he responded. There was a another roar and the two dragons split up, strafing the line of Dementors, on either side of Harry, with fire.

Harry held his arms outward again, stretching to each horizon and repeated the spell. _"Icendiamos!"_ This time, great spheres of fire, twisting into tornadoes of fiery gasses, roared from both his outstretched palms and swirled along the line of Dementors on either side of him. There were more screams, but this time distant, this time human.

"_We can stop them,"_ he thought to himself with excitement. _"We shall stop them! Stop them all!"_ …or were the dragons speaking…? _ "We shall cleanse the land and it shall be reborn anew."_ Again the vision of the tapestry at Hogwarts flashed in Harry's mind, the arid desert scene behind Singehorn, it was a vision of death and destruction, revealing to Harry his own sense of Centaurian rage and dragon glee and… and something more, something darker. He paused, frightened that the emotions swirling in his mind, prodding him to wield more power, weren't truly his own. In that moment's pause, there was a cry, faint and distant… a child's cry from behind. Harry turned.

"Jamie?" he muttered, trying to clear his thoughts, trying to find his own centre; then he saw it. "The castle!" he breathed.

From where Harry stood, all the way to the front of the castle walls, a good football field away, nothing stood higher than a few inches off the ground, much of it polished a glossy black. No Dementor remained alive. The barn… the barn holding Buckbeak and the other Hippogriffs was gone. There was nothing but blackened ash. Whatever wizard or wizards that had been casting Patronus spells had either vanished or been destroyed.

"What… What have I done?" The two dragons circled above. He could feel their pleasure.

"_Well done, Primate!"_ one of them congratulated him. "There are more creatures just to the north. Shall we attack?"

"GO!" he commanded. "Leave me!" They obliged, flying to the east, the fading sound of their wings beating against the air the only noise to be heard. There was no other sound of life, save for the crying coming from the castle.

"JAMIE!" Harry yelled out, running toward the broken castle walls which had fallen inward on themselves. No sooner had the dragons left than the dark cloud began to reform above the castle grounds, filtering out the sun. There was a handful of snaps and pops from behind him, and Harry looked back to see a group of wizards, some fifty yards away, wearing the garb of Death Eaters, hoods covering their faces, standing like carved statues. Harry raised his wand to strike when, from their centre, emerged a thin, pale wizard, wearing no hood and dressed in bright red robes.

"Draco?" Harry sputtered in disbelief. The blonde smiled and, even at this distance, Harry could see two long, pristine fangs. The former Slytherin was still thin, but he looked far better off than when Harry had last seen him in prison.

"I heard about the fire and I knew it was you," Draco called, but his voice was unnatural. Had the vampirism affected him as it had Dakhil? "I had to come see for myself."

Harry kept his wand high, but Draco made no such comparable move. Then Harry remembered Gabriella's vision… red… was this—

"What are you playing at?" Harry called out, the cloud of darkness, Dementors, swirling high about his head, still blotting the sun. He was beginning to feel cold and the faint sounds of screams tickled the back of his mind, but there was more… a collection of voices, mutterings, and calls of command. Harry shook his head, unsure what it was he was hearing. His eyes shot around, looking for Lucius; or was Draco the vessel for Voldemort? "Where's your father?" he yelled. "Where's Voldemort?"

The hooded Death Eaters unmoving, statuesque and frozen in position, Draco continued to step forward as if he wasn't listening. Soon he was some thirty feet in front of Harry, a mass of Dementors at his back. The voices in Harry's head grew louder.

"Tell them to stay back, Draco, or I'll fry you all. I swear!"

Draco simply smiled. "Always the drama queen," he drawled. Again the tone of his words was surreal, as if it emanated from—

"_This is ridiculus!"_ someone clicked and scratched. _ "Take his soul." _It took a moment before Harry realized he was hearing the voice of one of the Dementors. He'd never heard them speak before. Then, he remembered. For a split moment, Harry glanced to the ebon ring on his finger. Of course, not only could he hear them, he could speak to these creatures!

"Stay back, you filth!" he yelled, focusing his words to bend to their language. The Dementors halted, if only briefly, taken aback that they had all heard Harry's words in their own tongue. Oblivious, Draco continued to swagger ahead.

His smile was Cheshire like and the arrogance was overwhelming. Every fibre in Harry's body said not to trust him, but he was hesitating. Why? He should destroy him and the Dementors behind him now. Yet, the thought of what he had done to the barn and Buckbeak was burned into his memory; he took no action. Soon Draco was ten feet away. The screams began to crawl into Harry's psyche, growing louder as Draco moved closer and the Dementors closed in from behind the blonde. Harry's hand began to tremble.

"I can't believe this is going to work," a Dementor clicked.

"_What?" _Harry thought. _"Work?"_ He hesitated no longer.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ he cried. An enormous stag erupted from his wand. It wouldn't harm Draco, but at least it would repel the swirling darkness. The Dementors screeched and scattered. Harry could hear them cursing. With the cloud parted, the sun's full rays fell on Draco's face. There was a puff of smoke and naught but a small pile of ash remained in the place where he stood.

"DRACO!" Harry screamed out, rushing forward and falling to his knees. He'd killed him! "No!" Suddenly, a blast of cold struck Harry's back. He never heard the spell, but he knew at once what it was – _Petrificus Totalus._ He could feel his body turn rigid as he crumpled to the ground.

He heard the _crunch, crunch, crunch_ of footsteps moving toward him over the charred and kiln-dried earth. Someone took his shoulder and spun him over. It was Draco Malfoy, only he was dressed in different robes – these were green. Above his head was something that looked like a floating umbrella, shading him wherever he moved. His face was drawn and tired, more gaunt than the Draco he'd seen before, the one dressed in red. He looked ill; nonetheless there was a thin line across his lips and, when he spoke, Harry could see his fangs. They were barely noticeable, not the extended spikes curing about the lower lip of the red dressed Draco.

"I knew you wouldn't kill me," he whispered, kneeling down at Harry's side. His voice was as Harry always remembered it – snide and haughty. "You're wondering about this?" he asked, rubbing the ash of his other self's remains in his fingers. "A bit of advanced transfiguration is all. You really should be more careful. I might not be at Hogwarts, but that doesn't mean I haven't been training." Harry's eyes were on fire, anger beginning to fill his veins once again. He'd been duped. "You're angry. I understand. I would be too, but we're partners, right? We're going to see this thing through to the end… no matter the cost. He must be stopped."

There was another collection of pops and snaps in the distance. Immediately, Draco bent low to Harry's ear. "Harry," he whispered, "trust me… now, more than ever. This can't _look_ real, it has to _be_ real." Draco rose to his feet, fear flickering across his eyes. "I'm… I'm… Forgive me for this." Draco waved his wand and, with a sharp tearing sound, the front of Harry's robes were torn away, revealing his bare chest.

"Draco?" called a low, drawling voice from across the burnt field. There were more pops.

Draco looked down at Harry and mouthed the words, _"Be ready."_ There was the briefest of hesitations and then…

"_Diffindo!"_ he cried. Harry's chest exploded with searing pain. He would have cried out, but he couldn't. Four razor-like cuts appeared across his chest. He was sliced as if a lion had run his large claws from Harry's left shoulder to the lower ribs of his right side. _"Diffindo!"_ Another slashing movement criss-crossed the clawing pattern on Harry's chest, mimicking the one before and leaving an enormous, broad _X_ created from bleeding strips of flesh.

Blood began to flow freely as Draco knelt low and drank from the open wounds. The Dementors began to move in, but Draco cast his own Patronus, a large silvery snake that coiled and struck. "Stay away from him!" he yelled. "He's mine!"

"DRACO!" Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared in Harry's view. "Are you mad? What in the name of Morgana are you— Potter?" Lucius' eyes flashed with a spark of glee. Then his head snapped up, looking toward the demolished stones of the castle. "Is this it? Is the boy here?" Then back at Draco. The younger blonde was drawing another swallow of Harry's blood. Lucius seemed to snap to his senses. His voice was stern, reproachful. "Do you know what you're doing? This isn't what—" he stopped himself and then sighed. Draco had ignored him throughout, lapping at Harry's open wounds. Harry was wincing with pain as he saw a look of disgust fill Lucius' expression.

"What have you become," his father drawled in disdain. Draco stopped, and, for the first time, he looked up, his face covered in blood.

"Only what you have made me, father; only what you have made me."

"You know that the Dark Lord wants—"

"The bastard's mine!" yelled Draco, rising to his feet. "I finally have him under my control and you want me to hand him over to that… that failure!" Lucius slapped Draco hard across the face, spraying blood into the air.

"Never speak like—"

"You're a fool!" yelled Draco. He pointed at Harry. "Potter has the stone! Don't you see? He knows where it is! With it, _you _could lead the Death Eaters!" Draco stepped toward his father, wiping his face with his hand and shaking the excess blood onto the scorched earth beneath. "Look around you! He did this because he has the vivificus stone. Who gives a damn about a baby? Get Potter to hand it over to you, and _YOU_ would be the new Dark Lord! Father, whatever power he held over you twenty years ago, with the stone, you can pay that wisp of a spirit back for what he's done to our family!"

Lucius hesitated… and then his eyes darted all about. Was he looking to see if anyone was listening? Harry couldn't move to see if there were others nearby. He'd heard other Apparations. Where was Voldemort? Whose body had he taken control of? Lucius' eyes settled on something or someone behind Harry. Nonchalantly, he slipped out his wand, pointed it initially at Harry, but then quickly raised it up to the object he had been looking at.

"_Avada Kedavra!" _he hissed. Green light sprang from his wand and Harry heard a thump as something fell to the ground. With a smirk, Lucius slipped his wand away. "I always liked Goyle, but we couldn't have him blubbering about things he doesn't have the comprehension to understand. Besides, he was never the same after his son died."

The elder Malfoy stepped close to Harry and knelt. Between thumb and forefinger, he grabbed a strip of loose flesh on Harry's chest and pulled. Harry tried to defy the agony in his eyes, but they gave him away as a tear of pain slipped out and slapped against the glassy earth.

"Now… Potter," he drawled, "what's say you tell me where the stone is and I heal these nasty scratches? Otherwise, I think Draco here might just have to drink you dry." He tugged on the flesh again and Harry screamed in silence. "What do you say, lad?" Lucius placed his hand on Harry's forehead and the Gryffindor felt his muscles release from the neck and above. He could speak. "Is it really worth it?" Harry felt Lucius get a tighter grip on the loose flesh. "Do we have a deal?"


	31. A Dangerous Game

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****31 – A Dangerous Game**

The third staircase on the climb up Gryffindor tower locked into place. A few of the wizards in the portraits against the wall stirred, but most just continued sleeping. Even though she was exhausted, Hermione's heart pounded faster and faster the closer they got to the Gryffindor common room.

On their climb out of the dungeons, she explained everything that had transpired. Snape cursed Harry's reckless behaviour.

"He'll get them all killed is what will happen," Snape had hissed. "Foolish, just like his father."

But even still, he was intrigued by the possibility that Voldemort could have taken control of another student, perhaps too intrigued Hermione pondered. As they climbed, Snape tried to convince her that everything was and would remain just fine. Voldemort was certainly miles, if not countries, away. His words contradicted his eager expression. Nor was Hermione so sure that Voldemort had left Hogwarts once he had been forced to leave Gabriella's body.

Harry was certainly impulsive, but there was always an edge of truth in everything he said. It's just that he had a problem taking the time to think it all through. She wished that, at least sometimes, Harry would sit down and just contemplate the implications and intricacies of his actions and the actions of those around him. Ron had the same impulsive streak in him; perhaps that's why he and Harry were such great friends, but he was also, when he took the time, a great strategist. He could weave the moves four, or more steps ahead. Hermione knew that Ron's brothers, Fred and George, had long ago mastered that skill and that, one day, Ron would as well. Perhaps that's why she and Ron made such a great couple. Or, maybe, it was because he was such a good—

"Well, here we are," said Snape in a long drawn out sigh. "Shall you do the honours, Ms. Granger?" he asked, holding his hand out toward the sleeping Fat Lady. Hermione cleared her throat. The Fat Lady didn't move. She coughed louder. Still nothing happened.

"Excuse me," she said softly.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," snapped Snape. He pounded on the portrait's frame. "Wake up, woman!" he yelled. The Fat Lady nearly jumped out of the frame. Her hair was skewed to one side and her lipstick had somehow smeared across her cheek.

"How dare you interrupt my—" She stopped, realizing that a professor was present and then quickly tried to adjust her appearance. "Is there a p-problem Professor?" Snape looked at Hermione impatiently.

"Ms. Granger?"

"Er… sorry, ma'am. We didn't mean to—"

"Ms. Granger?"

"Why, yes, sir… Demon dippers."

The portrait swung open and Snape and Hermione stepped into the Gryffindor common room. Hermione expected to see Ron, pacing back and forth with his wand drawn, looking expectantly out the window for Harry's return. Instead he was sprawled out on the couch in front of the fire… asleep. Or was he d—?

"RON!" she cried. The redhead jumped up, nearly throwing his wand into the fire.

"W-What," he sputtered groggily. "What the bloody—"

"Worse than worthless," muttered Snape.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, running to his side.

"Er… yeah," he answered, rubbing his eyes with one hand while reaching down about the bottom of the couch to find his wand. Realizing he'd simply fallen asleep, Hermione's demeanour instantly changed and, bent down as he was, she kicked him in the arse, flattening him to the floor.

"How could you fall asleep?" she yelled, kicking him once more. "Harry could be back any minute now and… and—"

"Stop kicking me!" Ron yelled back. "Ow! So help me… I'll—" Finally, he found his wand, spun onto his back and held it up at her, waving it like a first year.

"You'll what?" snapped Hermione, kicking his thigh. "I should—"

"Eh, hem." Snape gave a little cough and the two stopped to look at him. The irritation in his eyes was enough for Hermione to put her wand away. It took Ron a moment more.

"Sev… er, Professor," he said, slipping his wand away and rubbing his hind quarters. "Of course." Ron rose to his feet and put his arm, haltingly, about Hermione's waist. He looked into her eyes and whispered, "No need to go mental. I was awake. Reflexes of a cat. You know that. Meeeeowww." He made a clawing motion with his right hand, and Hermione, against her will, smiled.

"Is the boy still upstairs?" Snape asked with an obviously dispassionate voice.

"Er, Patrick?" asked Ron. "Sure. Probably still in bed. I haven't heard a thing since he left to the dormitory."

"Obviously," drawled Snape.

The three made there way to where the second year boys slept. Already, the early glow of dawn was beginning to reveal itself through the window. Hermione glanced out through the pains of glass and noticed a somewhat sickly looking wizard approaching the front doors of Hogwarts with great haste. She recognized, Remus Lupin at once, and his presence did not, in her mind, portend as a sight of great things to come. She watched as the castle doors closed behind him.

"I suggest we proceed with due caution," offered Snape quietly.

All three held their wands at the ready as Snape carefully pulled back the curtains on Patrick's bed. He was there, asleep in a foetal position. Looking down at him, Hermione felt that the whole concept that this angelic looking boy could be possessed by Voldemort was fantastical.

"It doesn't seem possible," whispered Hermione. The words, though soft, startled Patrick and he jumped up, seeing Ron at his bedside first.

"Oh crap!" Patrick exclaimed. "Did I miss Quidditch practice? I was going to watch—" He stopped, noticing Snape. "Professor?" Then he saw Hermione. "What's wrong?" It took him a moment to process and then he yelled, "It's Harry!" The other second year students began to stir at the commotion. "Where's Harry? Did something happen today in the forest?" Patrick was agitated and tried to rise to his feet, but Ron held him down.

"He was supposed to see Dumbledore," Patrick continued. "I knew he was in danger. Where's Harry? I tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen! He never…" Again, he tried to get up, but Ron held him fast. "Let me—"

"_Legilimens!"_ whispered Snape with one hand against Patrick's shoulder. The connection lasted for only a heartbeat or two and stopped as abruptly as it began as Snape jerked his hand away.

"Well, Professor," asked Hermione, her wand drawn, but her hand shaking. "Can you see anything?"

"Nothing that would concern you, Ms. Granger," answered Snape calmly. "But, if this was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, I doubt I'd be able to discern a thing." Ron sniggered.

"Then why bother?" he asked.

"Because," replied Snape, "if it was… him, he most certainly would have killed the three of us for even trying."

"But—"

"If he had, it would have been a foolish move, revealing his presence," answered Snape before Hermione could ask the question. "His plans, whatever they might be, would have been foiled. A worthy sacrifice, don't you think, Ms. Granger?"

"Voldemort?" muttered Patrick, somewhat confused.

"I could have a go," offered Ron. "Maybe you just need to—"

"No," said Snape shortly, holding his arm in front of Ron and blocking his way. Ron's temper flared.

"But I healed the Longbottom's minds; maybe I can see what happened to the Dark Lord. I know he was in there."

"_Dark Lord,"_ queried Hermione softly to herself. She'd never heard Ron refer to Voldemort in that way. And the tone was almost deferential.

"This is a job for Madame Pomfrey," insisted Snape. "I'm afraid your suspicions may have been properly founded. Young Mr. O'Riley here has no memory of this morning's breakfast."

"What are you talking about?" said Patrick, irritably. "I had kippers and orange juice and—"

"They served kippers yesterday, not today," interrupted Hermione.

"It seems, Mr. O'Riley," said Snape, "that you have no memory since sometime midday yesterday."

"That's not possible! I was just—" He looked to the window. "It's dark. But…" His head fell. "It's not… not again. Please… not again…" He began to cry, wrapping one hand about Hermione's robes. "Why me?"

"Because," said Hermione gently, "he knows that Harry is fond of you. You're the brother he never had." Her eyes flashed to Ron, but his expression did not register what she had just said. Instead he was more intent on Professor Snape. Her words, however, did appear to calm Patrick, if only a little.

He was still crying as they made their way to the Hospital wing. Hermione couldn't help but feel miserable for him. He was obviously unnerved and upset and worried. He clung to her as if she were a singular piece of driftwood in a vast open ocean. She stroked his head, trying to calm him, but little would help. Then, suddenly, he stopped and stood upright.

"James!" he cried. All at once, he turned and tried to head the other way. "We have to see if James is—"

"Hold on," said Hermione, struggling with the others to hold him in place. "We need to get you to the hospital and then… then we'll go check on James."

"But maybe—"

"Mr. O'Riley," spat Snape struggling to hold him as well. "If you don't turn the other way, I'll bind and gag you and have Mr. Weasley here drag you the rest of the way."

Snape's threats didn't work. In fact, it took some time to get Patrick headed back toward Madame Pomfrey, but, finally, Hermione was able to assure him that they would see James right away.

When they arrived, they were surprised to see Madame Pomfrey still dressed in her nurse's robes and wide awake. A further push of the door revealed why. Theodore Nott and his pals had been healed and were being released. Nott first saw only Hermione and took a step back.

"Stay away, you!" he yelled.

His recoil could not have stabbed further into Hermione's heart. She had nearly killed him last year, slamming his skull into the stone walls of the dungeons. There was still part of her that was happy he had been punished, but no part had wished him death. That her actions had nearly cost Nott his life had haunted Hermione all summer long. She had never told anyone about the nightmares, not even Ron, and the fact that Nott seemed so afraid of her, here of all places, shook her to the bone. She wanted to reach out to him, but knew that, especially with his pals here, that she would simply make matters worse. As her own sadness deepened, the flash of fear in his eyes quickly vaporized and a sense of anger filled the void.

"I… I mean," Nott sputtered, putting on a show for the others, "if you know what's good for you!" He had regained his composure, but not before Ron chuckled slowly as he walked through the door with Patrick in his arms, Snape a few paced behind. The subtle laughter did not go unnoticed by Nott or Hermione.

"Ron!" she whispered.

"What's that Weasles?" challenged Nott unaware that his Head of House was just behind the door. He moved forward, reaching for his wand.

Nott had taken only two steps forward before Patrick held out his hand and, struggling to break free of Ron's grip, cried, _"Crucio!"_ At the same instant that Nott cried out in pain, Hermione and Snape cried out to stop Patrick. The spell was broken at once, and he began to shake uncontrollably.

Quickly, Madame Pomfrey ushered Patrick to a bed just as Nott's gang ushered him out of the hospital ward before he could verbalize what had just happened to him.

"You will wait for me in the common room!" Snape called after them. "Buffoons," he muttered to himself.

Patrick took a drink from a dull green potion and fell fast asleep. There was clear pallor to Madame Pomfrey's complexion that wasn't there a moment before.

"I… I never…" she muttered to herself.

"No, Poppy," said Snape, "but the darkness has clearly seeped within the walls. Whether he had taken control of Mr. O'Riley's body, or simply used him as a pawn remains to be seen." He looked into Hermione's eyes. "He is, perhaps, closer than we can imagine."

She could feel Snape's eyes penetrating her own, searching for something. There was a pulse of pain in her right temple. She was about to challenge Snape for looking into her mind when Ron bumped his shoulder and broke the trance.

"Yeh think?" snapped Ron angrily, brushing past Snape and toward Patrick's bed. "Now maybe if you let me have a look, we can find out exactly—"

"Mr. Weasley," said Snape, placing a firm hand on Ron's shoulder. "You were the last one to see Patrick, is that right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Hermione watched as Snape's hand tightened slightly about Ron's shoulder. She knew that he was trying to search Ron's mind as he had searched hers. But Ron's mental skills at both Occlumency and Legilimency were ten-fold her own. Ron slapped Snape's hand away and there was distinct pop as, somewhere, the air had arced between them.

"Oi! Don't think so, Professor." Ron took a step back from Snape. "Harry told us not to trust anyone, and as much as I'm sure you're not Voldemort, I'm just as sure you are."

"_Voldemort?" _whispered Hermione under her breath. Had Ron actually said the name? Her eyes scanned him for any hint, any suggestion that maybe—

"Yes… well," began Snape, twirling his wrist so that his cloak repositioned itself on his forearm. Hermione wondered if it might be to more readily grab his wand if need be. Ron took it exactly as such, as if he'd seen the move many times before and knew exactly what it meant, and for the briefest of moments, it was almost a twitch, he reached for his own wand and stopped.

"I see," said Snape, his eyes glancing back between Patrick and Ron. "Well, I think Madame Pomfrey can handle things from here, and I will go and speak to Professor Dumbledore directly."

At these words, Hermione brushed aside her own concerns as being paranoid and a great wave of relief past over her, certain that at last action would be taken. "Excellent, professor," she said with the faintest hint of a smile.

"Shall we go with you?" offered Ron. But before Snape could answer, Hermione replied.

"Oh. I don't think so, Ron. Harry asked us to be ready for him and I think it best—"

"But Dumbledore," interrupted Ron with unexpected vigour. "He may want to hear the whole story. He may not believe—"

"I can assure you, Mr. Weasley," said Snape smoothly, "that Professor Dumbledore will believe what I have to tell him." Ron's arms crossed. It was clear he was trying to assemble a new argument, but, before he could, Snape added, "And you bring up a good point, Ms. Granger. Someone should be ready to greet Harry and the others should they arrive; I think it wise that you alert Professor McGonagall." He held up his hand and a quill floated in the air and a small scroll appeared from between his fingers. He began to scribble hastily. When he was finished, the quill vanished and he rolled the parchment in his hands, uttering words Hermione did not understand… an old Germanic tongue she thought. "Take this to her." He made a fist so that his ring, bearing the crest of Slytherin, faced a green wax disk that had appeared and aligned along the seam of the rolled parchment. It flashed bright yellow and sealed the note shut. "It explains everything."

Hermione took the note from Professor Slytherin and started toward the exit. She was at the door when she realized that Ron was not following her.

"Ron!" she called. "You are coming, aren't you?"

Ron's eyes rose to meet Snape's. The redhead smiled an odd smile and, his eyes still focussed on Severus Snape, said, "Absssolutely!"

Within minutes they were halfway to Professor McGonagall's. Hermione was surprised that Ron did not take her hand in his as they walked. It was his custom. But maybe with the thoughts of war floating in the air, he was too nervous. Moving briskly, they turned the corner to Professor McGonagall's office.

"You really shouldn't be like that, you know," scolded Hermione. "He's changed."

"What?" asked Ron, distracted.

"I heard the emphasis on the _Sssss_. I thought you and Harry agreed that he was—"

"I think I know where Sev- Snape's loyalties lie." They walked a bit further and Ron's hands kept flexing into and out of fists. "There's one way to find out."

Hermione stopped. "What's wrong with you? Why are you acting this way?"

"First, let's get that very _important_ note to Professor McGonagall, as if she'd have half a clue as to what to do with the information, and then… well, we'll prepare a welcoming party for our Harry."

She didn't like the tone in his voice. Now Ron was being disrespectful to both Professor Snape, Professor McGonagall and his best friend.

"Look," she said irritably, placing her hands on her hips, "I know you're nervous, but—"

"Come on!"

This time, he had grabbed her hand and was nearly dragging her down the hall to Professor McGonagall's office. Before she had a chance to complain, Ron was banging loudly on the Professor's door. Suddenly, his whole demeanour changed. His shoulders, which the moment before were tall and defiant, had slumped. The fire that was in his eyes a moment before faded to fear. Then, for an instant, the fire and posture returned.

"Give me that." He snapped the parchment with Snape's seal on it and his figure slumped once more just before the door opened. Professor McGonagall was still in her nightgown; her eyes were tired but the tightness about her lips suggested that she had been in some way interrupted.

"What in heaven's name—"

"We need your help P-Professor," said Ron nervously. "Professor Snape insisted we g-give this to you. Harry's in trouble."

"Potter?" asked Professor McGonagall, concerned with the uncharacteristic appearance of Ron's emotions. "What's he gotten himself into this time?" She stepped backwards into her front office, leaving the door open as on offering for the two students to enter.

"Well, it's not exactly about Harry," began Hermione. "It's about Vold—" She felt Ron's hand dig into her wrist. She yanked her hand away.

"It's unusual that Severus should use his seal," said McGonagall, holding up her wand. She tapped the green disk and it vanished; the tight role of parchment uncurled. Hermione paid no attention. She was furious at Ron.

"I don't see why you should be so squeamish about me saying it, when you just used his name upstairs!"

Professor McGonagall looked up over her glasses at the two students.

"Read the note," snapped Ron, before Hermione could answer. "Please."

Hermione had never been so angry at him. She huffed and folded her arms, taking a step back and waiting for Professor McGonagall to look at the piece of parchment in her hands. As she stood, Hermione noticed the small door that was behind the desk in Professor McGonagall's office was ajar. She'd never seen it open before. Hermione could make out some paintings and a small sitting chair and table – an entryway to a larger space beyond from which came the light of flickering candles. Hermione's eyes shot back to Ron, who was eagerly waiting for Professor McGonagall to read the note. He had never been this way. Moody, yes, but not like this. Usually, he was ready for a fight, perhaps too eager. Now… now his emotions were swinging from one direction to the next. He was edgy, rude, frightened, bossy… it was like he was two different people. Two different—

"Patrick's well then?" asked Professor McGonagall shortly. Her voice was firm and the expression on her face had not changed. Apparently, the note from Snape had not impacted her in any discernable way. Ron just stared at her, transfixed, not saying a word. Hermione was just about to answer when the left side of Ron's face twitched upward, curling his lips into a smile.

"Well played, Minerva," he said softly with a cold voice. "It _is_ unfortunate… isn't it?"

Hermione watched as the colour of Professor McGonagall's face blanched, though her expression remained stern. Instinctively, the professor looked back behind her toward the open door. There, on the table next to the sitting chair, was her wand.

"Ron?" Hermione asked. "What's—"

"RUN GIRL!" cried Professor McGonagall just as she lunged toward the steely eyed redhead before her. With a wave of his wand, he sent her crashing against the far wall.

"Stupefy!" cried Hermione, but, without even looking back towards her, he deflected the spell as if he were swatting a fly. He stepped toward the professor, crumpled on the floor, shattered shelves were strewn about the floor.

"Run!" called Professor McGonagall again. "It's—"

"A serious lapse in judgement, Minerva. So like a Gryffindor." With a flick of his wand, Ron sent a shattered piece of bookcase flying out of his way. "Still, I need to see the note. I need to know where Snape's loyalties lie. Did he tell you outright, or could you see through his lies?"

It was him. It was Voldemort! He'd taken… he'd taken Ron. A wave of panic rushed across Hermione and she was certain she would wretch at any moment. Her breaths became short and laboured. The wand in her hand was shaking violently. She cast another spell and another spell, each he flicked away with ease, never looking back toward her, ever moving toward his prey, the defenceless professor, crawling across the office floor toward the open door behind her desk. As he drew close, he held his wand inches from her face, but she ignored it, continuing to crawl toward her goal, her left leg twisted in an odd direction. The lack of fear drew rage from the evil controlling Ron. Hermione continued to fire spells to no effect.

"Would you die for a piece of parchment, Professor?" Voldemort sneered. "It was sealed and sent to you! You know for me to read it, you must hand it to me!"

Professor McGonagall stopped crawling, resting one hand against her oak desk. Instead of looking toward Ron, her eyes met Hermione's. There was fierceness and an anger – anger that Hermione had seen in those same eyes before, when students did not listen or pay attention. All too often she'd seen the look directed at Ron, but now they were directed at her.

"Run!" she said with a hushed but determined voice. It penetrated Hermione and, against her will, she turned and moved toward the office door, leading to the outside corridor. After only two steps, however, the door slammed shut, locked tight.

"I'm afraid I have run out of time to play more games," said Voldemort. He held his hand down toward the broken professor. "Give me the note!" Professor McGonagall took one glance at Hermione and a tear traced down her cheek. "How very touching," Voldemort jeered. "GIVE ME THE NOTE!"

Professor McGonagall looked once at Hermione and then at the desk before her. Voldemort snarled.

"_AVADA—"_

"_Rennervate,"_ whispered Professor McGonagall. Without another word she, and the note, were gone. It looked as if they'd simple melted away directly into vapour.

"—_KEDAVRA!"_

A flash of green exploded into the office floor sending shards and splinters of wood everywhere. Hermione could see at once he was confused, his eyes darting about looking for where the professor had gone. He turned and faced Hermione, looking as if he might ask her where McGonagall had vanished to when, at the same moment, the old oak desk rose up on two of its legs and crashed down on top of Voldemort. There was a terrific crunch.

"RON!" cried Hermione. She began to move forward when the desk turned on its victim and _faced_ Hermione.

The centre drawer moved out and Hermione heard it say, _"Run!"_ in a dry, scratchy voice. She didn't need to be told again. Unable to open the front door, she ran toward the back door that was still ajar. Just as she passed the desk, it burst into flames and she saw Ron rising to his feet, his wand arm twisted in an awkward direction. Her emotions had sundered – half happy that her fiancé was still alive, half defeated that Voldemort was rising for the attack.

Hermione cast a spell to make it rain in the office and slammed the door shut behind her, locking it with a wave of her wand. Almost at once, she could hear Voldemort, blasting away. It would only be a matter of seconds before he was through. She ran back, further into the room, looking for another way out. She came to a small room that was evidently Professor McGonagall's sleeping quarters. Portraits lined the walls, pictures of Minerva McGonagall with friends and family. She was smiling in nearly every one. To Hermione, the smiling and jovial Professor McGonagall seemed, somehow, out of place. She wondered who these other witches and wizards were. There was another blast and she pulled herself away to look for an—

The door exploded open, Ron stepping through the billowing smoke and dust. Hermione's heart was crashing against her chest. She was trapped. There was no smile on his face, no interest in banter. He was furious that things were not going the way he had planned. He raised his wand with his opposite hand and pointed it at her face. She knew that she could not beat the wizard before her. Instead of attacking back, she raised her wand high into the air.

"_Bombarda!"_ she cried, bringing down the roof above him. He stopped the falling timbers in midair and flung them aside. His eyes flashed red.

"_Avada Ked—__"_ He stopped, a small look of discomfort crossed his face, almost as if he'd swallowed a fly. He tilted his neck to one side, causing it to crack and then he spit the dust from his mouth. He shook his wrist and held his wand upright again. Hermione was backed against the wall.

"Ron… please."

"_Avad—__"_ Again Voldemort faltered. The fire in his eyes grew bright. He raised his wand once more, preparing to cast the killing curse, only this time he couldn't even begin the incantation.

"Ron?" Hermione asked. For a moment she thought she saw a flash of his blue eyes look back at her, but at once they were extinguished. Voldemort spat again.

"Very well," he hissed. He pointed his wand at Hermione and this time she felt her feet leave the floor. A moment later, she was flung onto Professor McGonagall's bed. "You don't want to see her die?" he asked, staring at his reflection in the glass that covered one of the portraits hanging on the wall. He turned back toward Hermione. "Perhaps there is time… time for one more game."


	32. Death Divined

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****32 – Death Divined**

The air was cool, but she felt hot, perspiration dripping into her eyes, making it difficult to see the way forward. She was running, running, was it, to save someone? She couldn't remember. Running away from someone? Her heart was pounding in her chest, but not from exertion… from fear. Her head snapped this way and that, her stinging eyes straining against the murkiness to see through the dense trees, but there was only the thin veil of a gray mist that filled the voids between the trunks, eerily lit by some unknown light from above. They were here, she knew that, watching her; they'd always been here, but why was she? The sweat that now coated her body and soaked her nightclothes was chilled by an unnatural breeze and Gabriella could feel an overpowering fear work its way up from her bare feet, to her chest and, finally, it constricted about her throat. She wanted to scream in the darkness, but she couldn't; the fear had consumed her.

There was a distant splash off to her right and she ran through the bramble in that direction, hoping beyond hope that someone was there to save her from the forest and the murdering creatures it contained, now closing in around her. She burst through a collection of branches and found herself at the edge of a rather small lake, her feet skidding to a halt in the moss-covered earth. Her nightclothes had vanished, replaced by splendidly white robes. Somewhere beyond the veil, she could hear the water's source – a great falls roaring and churning just outside her vision. The lake's surface glittered from the light above and it caused her eyes to move upward, only to find a great comet roaring through the night's sky.

"Ebyrth," she whispered to herself. Someone suddenly grabbed her from behind and held her gently about the waist.

"I wonder how something so beautiful could—"

She spun, ready to strike like a cornered serpent, but then stayed her hand.

"Harry?"

He was smiling, his gaze still upward toward the comet. She could see the reflection of its fiery tail burning across his eyes. He looked back down at her with nothing but warmth in the same pools of green and it filled her heart with hope.

"I've always loved this place," he said softly as he kissed her forehead. "He can't beat us here." There was a snap, a branch breaking, and then Hermione Granger appeared from the darkness.

"Harry, why are you here?" she called angrily. "We need you back at the castle. We're under attack! The Dementors—"

"Don't you see that there are other things more important?" Harry yelled back.

The moment the words left his mouth a Centaur with a dark black coat stepped out of the forest, a large bow in one hand and a quiver across his back. Gabriella saw Harry's eyes meet the Centaur's.

"I… I didn't think you'd join us," said Harry with a tone of surprise in his voice.

"Impudence!" the Centaur called to someone out across the lake, hidden in the mist. "You were right, my Lord!"

Seeing the hatred in the Centaur's eyes, Gabriella pulled back, pulled away from Harry. She'd seen those eyes before; it was happening again. Harry turned.

"Gabriella?" he asked. "What is it?"

The Centaur notched an arrow in his bow, but Gabriella was silent, her voice strangled once again with fear. All she could do was reach out a hand and point a trembling finger at the Centaur now drawing the string back on his bow.

"NO!" a voice cried from across the lake. Gabriella spun and there, somehow floating above the surface of the water was Severus Snape. He was wearing a large black cloak with a hood that covered the top his head, but there was no mistaking the pale skin, the long, hooked nose and the thin lips now twisted with fury. He was screaming like a madman. "NO!"

There was a flash of green light, the twang of a bowstring, and Gabriella could feel herself slip from her body and hover off the ground – now an impassioned observer. There, face down in the reeds and mossy earth, she laid — a Centaur arrow in her back.

Her spirit drifted upward, higher and higher, until the vision of her death below was covered in mist… and the darkness enveloped the mist… and the pain throbbed in her left arm… and the sound of crying filled the air… a baby… crying.

Gabriella's eyes opened; the ash and heated dust still floating in the air made them burn and water. A large timber, flames still lapping up its side, was across her chest, making it nearly impossible to breathe. She tried to yell for help, but the weight against her chest was too great. Somewhere, out of her vision, she heard Cho coughing. There was the sound of clatter, but Gabriella could not see what was happening.

"Jamie?" Cho called out with a hushed and panicked voice. "Jamie, are you— _shhhh_. There, there. It's okay. I'm right— Oh my god, Gab! _Wingardium Leviosa!_"

The timber rose into the air and the oxygen rushed back into Gabriella's lungs. Her first reaction was to cough. She tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in her left arm told her that it was broken.

"Gab!" cried Cho, stepping over to her friend. "Merlin, it's your arm." With blinding speed, her wand was out, bathing Gabriella's arm in a blue light. She could feel the bones knit back together; it itched. She was sure it was done and began to rise to her feet when Cho told her to wait. A second light erupted from her wand, this time white, and she muttered an incantation for strength. When it stopped, Cho held her hand out to lift up Gabriella. "It's the only way to make sure the bone sets properly. If you— Oh… your wand. Here." Cho reached down and picked up Gabriella's wand.

Taking the wand from Cho's hand, Gabriella muttered, "Thanks." Her head was pounding and it took a moment for Gabriella's eyes to focus. Finally, Cho's face became clear. Her clothes were badly burned and her left arm and shoulder were blistered, raw and red. In her other arm, was baby Jamie without a mark on him, only a smudge of soot marked the left side of his face. _"The blessing,"_ Gabriella thought to herself.

"Cho," she said. "Your arm, it's burned. I'm pretty good with those; let me—"

"_Tony!"_ cried Cho, a sudden look of realization spreading across her face. She spun from Gabriella. "TONY!" Gabriella stood up and began to scan the ash covered debris for Anthony Goldstein. Only then, did Gabriella fully take in the scope of the devastation. It was hard to believe that anything could survive the wreckage that surrounded them. Her mother had told her what anger and hatred were capable of… warned her to take her duty seriously. Until this moment, she didn't believe that Harry would—

"TONY!"

Carefully, Gabriella levitated one of the charred couches that looked like it might have been the one on which she'd seen him reading. Beneath it was a small corner of a newspaper that caught her eye, a tiny white square popping out against a purely black background; the rest had been burned away; not even cinder remained. Cho saw it and began to cry, repeatedly screaming Anthony's name through the sobs, one arm holding Jamie and the other holding her wand levitating nearly the entire room into the air. Looking up at the swirling, sooty mess, Gabriella saw a flash of blue – the bottom of a trainer.

"Cho, there!"

Hovering in the air with the other debris was a long mass of gray ash. It could have been a rolled up rug, or a large cushion, or any of a number of burnt household items now charred beyond recognition, but it wasn't. When Cho brought him toward her, the breeze brushed away the ash and revealed that it was a corpse, covered in soot, burnt beyond recognition, and lifeless. Cho began to tremble, threatening to drop him and everything else she had levitated into the air.

"Let me," offered Gabriella, and she took control of Anthony and brought him down to a, more or less, sheltered corner of what once was a room. There was a crash as Cho let everything fall behind them and it sent up a great plume of dust and smoke. For a moment, Gabriella thought she'd heard someone yelling outside and her thoughts rushed toward Harry, but first she had to be sure. She knelt down toward Anthony and vanished the ash that covered his body. Cho let out a gasp and turned away.

"_Rennervate!"_ called Gabriella, knowing that it wouldn't work. Well over half his body was badly burned. His left arm was nothing more than a blackened stump and the whole side of his face was more skeleton than flesh. "Renner—"

"Stop!" Cho took her by the wrist. "He… he wouldn't want to come back, not like that." Tears were streaming down her face. Her hand was trembling as she turned to face the north and its darkening sky. "Those bastards!" She moved forward and this time Gabriella held her.

"No Cho, you don't understand. You can't."

"I can and I will! Look what… look what they've done!"

Gabriella scanned the devastation and in her heart she knew that this was not the work of a Death Eater, or even a dozen Death Eaters. The earth was scorched as far as she could see, its surface a glossy glass that was cracked and bubbled, and the castle behind her was now little more than a ruin. How Cho survived was a miracle. She knew the source of this devastation and knew, by the warmth in the ring that was upon her finger, that he was still alive. Just like Cho, she too wanted to run to find Anthony's murderer, only for very different reasons. Gabriella took in another deep breath. She needed to get Cho to safety, before she discovered the truth.

"Cho, they've come for Jamie. You've got to get him back to Hogwarts. It's the only place that's safe."

"I… I…" Cho was dazed, angry and confused. Her eyes kept darting from one direction to the other, looking for what she must do. Finally, looking down at Anthony's body, she said, "No. I won't leave him, not like this."

"I'm serious. You don't understand. If—"

"I understand just fine! Don't you see what they've done! They must be punished. They will be punished." With a flourish of her wand, Jamie rose into the air out of Cho's arm and toward Cho's back. Then, he was held in place with a sticking charm. She winced as his hand brushed against her blistered shoulder. She muttered another incantation and he disappeared, almost. It was a tremendous camouflage. She began to move toward the shattered window; melted shards littered the ground.

"Cho, it's suicide. I won't let you—" began Gabriella.

"You can't stop me!"

"Fine, then let me heal your arm. If you're going to fight, you'll need to stay focussed." Cho stopped and, without saying a word, nodded her head.

Gabriella healed the burns as best she could, but the shoulder was badly scarred.

"I can't do anything about the scar," Gabriella said sadly. "Not here. Maybe with some potions, when we get back to the castle."

"No matter," said Cho. She closed her eyes and her short black hair grew down about her shoulders covering the disfigurement. She wiped another tear from her face and placed a gentle hand on Jamie's head. "Now, be good for mum, sweetheart." She tapped his forehead and Jamie was fast asleep, magically pinned to his mother. Again, she moved out from the shattered walls of Sirius' castle.

"Where are Sirius and the others?" asked Gabriella as they moved out onto the scorched earth.

"They took the hippogriffs to scout the grounds. They heard that there was— Oh my god." For a moment, Cho's burst of bravery faltered. High above, the clouds had darkened the sky, but they both knew by the sinking feeling in their hearts and the cold in the air that the clouds weren't clouds at all, but a swarm of Dementors. They were swirling about an area maybe two hundred yards away – an enormous tornado of blackness that was being repelled, somehow, from touching the ground. The pointed mass of black resembled an arrow pointing downward and Gabriella's eyes followed it quite naturally to the earth below. Flanked in the distance by at least a dozen Death Eaters in black robes was a lone blonde wizard. The two witches realized simultaneously who he was, but Cho had never really believed that Draco was still alive.

"Malfoy?" Cho muttered. "That's not possible."

Gabriella turned to Cho and held her by the arms. "Cho, this is insane. We can't possibly defeat them all. You've got to get out of here before the Dementors block any hope of Apparation. You have to think of Jamie." Cho's eyes were at first defiant, but another look back at what they had to face and she nodded her head reluctantly. She pulled her wand out to Apparate.

"You both need to get to the castle, get to Hermione. Do you understand? Just Hermione. Trust no one, not even your own brother." Gabriella wasn't sure why she didn't say Ron, or Patrick, or one of the professors, but something in her visions, in her spirit, was warning her against it.

"But… Harry. Where's Harry?"

Hearing his name, a stab of fear struck Gabriella's heart and, for the first time, a tear began to make its way down her dusty face. Her eyes looked toward the skies. "I don't know," she whispered. "Now go. I'll be there… I'll be there as soon as I can." Gabriella gave Cho a hug and kissed the sleeping Jamie on the forehead. They held hands for just an instant; Cho raised her wand to Apparate — Gabriella flinched. She'd heard a bloodcurdling scream that felt as if it had shaken the earth. "_Harry?"_

"What?" Cho asked.

"You didn't hear that?" Gabriella asked. She looked back and saw the Dementors swirl more aggressively above Draco. She moved a few paces forward as Draco cast some sort of spell onto the ground. There was another scream that reverberated in her mind. It filled the air and felt as if it echoed from the wall of Dementors flying high above.

"Gab, what is it?" Cho asked, noticing the look on Gabriella's face, but again not hearing the scream.

"He's killing him," Gabriella said, her voice trembling. Harry was calling out to her, but from where? She was unwilling to believe that Draco could betray Harry, but then she saw him, little more than a black cloth folded out upon the scorched earth. "What is he doing?" she asked, her words quivering slightly. The Dementors suddenly spun downward and looked as if they were going to attack both Draco and Harry, but Draco cast a Patronus that sent them fleeing upward. Still, the dark cloud hung high in the air above his head. "It doesn't make sense. _You're_ their target. Voldemort wants Jamie. Harry's of no value… unless—"

Without warning, while Gabriella tried to gather her thoughts, Cho took off running, nearly knocking Gabriella over. Lucius Malfoy had appeared and it was his appearance that convinced Cho that he was to blame –she knew beyond reason Lucius had killed her husband. He was too embroiled in some argument with Draco to notice her running at them. Instead, the first to move was a Death Eater some thirty yards beyond. Cho didn't see him move, nor did she care. Gabriella noticed and began to chase her down.

"Never again!" Cho spat at full stride, but the two Malfoy's did not hear her.

Instead, the Death Eater, standing behind Lucius that had seen her, pulled his wand to attack, but no sooner had he moved to protect the Malfoys than Lucius spun on him and a jet of green erupted from his wand and dropped the Death Eater to the ground. The other Death Eaters chose not to move close enough to give him another target. As Cho and Gabriella ran across the open field, the two Malfoys remained oblivious to their approach as the wizards both bent low over Harry's body.

"Cho, wait!" yelled Gabriella with a hushed voice. She reached out her hand to pull Cho's arm. "Harry's—"

Again a scream filled Gabriella's mind; pain stabbed at her temples. She halted, grabbing her head between her hands. _They were torturing him. _She tried to gather herself and realized Cho had escaped her. "Cho! Don't—"

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Cho cried. The way she was bouncing as she ran, Jamie jangling on her back, it would have been hard to hit the side of the barn, if it had still been standing. Trying to strike a crouching wizard was harder still. Her spell sailed above the oblivious wizards. Then, unexpectedly, Lucius Malfoy, jumped up, as if his hand had been stung. Gabriella could hear him curse and saw him pull his wand, pointing it not at the ground, but at his son. Even in the waning light, blocked be the swarming Dementors, Gabriella could see that he was furious. His hand pulled back for the strike and then he appeared to freeze in place, a white shimmering mist swirling about him.

Then, just as suddenly, Draco held his wand, ready to cast a spell at Harry. He pulled back, but then noticed the two young women running toward him. Gabriella was slowly closing the distance between herself and the witch waving her wand wildly.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Cho hissed through gritted teeth, anger firing her eyes. Draco slammed his body to the earth next to Harry. The bolt of green past over his head and struck the petrified Lucius Malfoy at the neck. Without a sound, he crumpled to the ground.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy smiled an evil smile as his fingers prepared to tug the loose flesh on Harry's side. Writhing in pain, Harry couldn't believe that Draco had betrayed him. Somehow, Harry always knew this moment would come, but there was still part of him that thought that there was some part of Draco Malfoy worth saving. Why had Harry hesitated when he had the chance? He should have destroyed Draco when he had first seen him. Even though it was now Lucius Malfoy asking the questions… _"What do you say, lad?"…_ and it was Lucius Malfoy threatening to torture him, Harry's eyes, filled with contempt, were firmly fixed on Draco.

Harry was contemplating just what exactly he would do to Draco if he was ever released. If only Lucius was foolish enough to— Harry suddenly felt the liberation of his vocal cords as Lucius touched his forehead. Before his eyes darted back to Lucius, Harry could have sworn he'd seen an evil smirk pass Draco's face. _But why?_

Lucius began to tug on the flesh dangling loose on Harry's side. The pain was intense, but Harry was distracted when, looking up past Lucius' face, Harry saw a flash of green fly past, its light neon-like against the darkness of Dementors above. Lucius hadn't seen it, but did he know it had come? Was he trying to threaten Harry with the killing curse? Harry decided he wasn't going to sit still to find out. He swallowed, trying to ensure that the spell would work the first time.

"_Fodio Serpetia!" _Harry hissed sharply. The spell pierced the hand Lucius was using to tear at Harry's flesh. The elder Malfoy cried out in pain, jerked his bleeding hand away and reached for his wand. "That's right," jeered Harry, still unable to move. "You did have one good arm left; not any more. Enjoy the stinging of a dragon's bite, while you can."

"Damn you, Draco!" Lucius spat. The skin on his fingers began to blister, his knuckles curled. Then the redness began to trace its way up to his wrist and then disappeared under his cloak. "You knew! You knew he could—"

"Father," drawled Draco, "how could I possibly—"

Suddenly a ghost appeared, swirling out of the ground at Malfoy's feet. It was the old man who had beseeched Harry to stay at Sirius' castle. The ghost enveloped Lucius and, for a moment, he stood frozen in place, a dull look of horror in his eyes.

"What is that?" cried Draco, drawing his wand. "What have you done?" Harry thought quickly, searching for what to say.

"He's er… frozen," Harry mumbled, trying to fight back the tears of pain in his eyes. "R-Release me now, or… or he'll die!"

Draco flicked his wand without saying a word and the spell binding the rest of Harry's body disappeared, as did the ghost, but not before it looked into Harry's eyes and whispered, _"It will be the moon."_

"Let him," drawled Draco. "I could give a— What in the name of Hades?"

Suddenly, Draco slammed to the earth next to Harry. At first he thought Draco wanted to fight, a battle Harry knew he couldn't win, not with his chest sliced open as it was. But then the corner of his eye caught the second glint of green. Harry watched as it past over them and struck Lucius in the throat, dropping him to blackened soil. In the distance, Harry heard a voice yell, _"Murderer!"_ It was Cho Chang.

"Father!" screamed Draco, crawling over to Lucius, who was motionless on the ground. Harry, barely able to move, watched as the rage spread across Draco's face. Evidently, Draco wasn't as dispassionate as he made out to be. "You bitch!" he hissed, his fangs flaring as he popped to his feet with his wand drawn. The earth began to rumble as the ring of Death Eaters that had been held at bay began to move forward. Then there was a screech from above. Five Dementors fell dead from the sky.

The cloud of darkness screeched again. Harry heard one of the Dementors cry, "Hold your position!" But his comrades evidently did not heed the command. The darkness separated and the sun's rays broke through to the blackened soil. Still on his back, Harry watched as five hippogriffs plunged through the opening, clawing and tearing at the blackness before them. In the lead, Sirius was riding Buckbeak, and every Dementor they faced, fell dead, dropping with a sickening snap as they struck the earth.

Another bolt of green past above Harry's head and just missed Draco. Harry struggled to raise up high enough onto one elbow and was able to see Cho and Gabriella running toward him. Looking back up at the sky, Harry realized that more members of the Order were plunging through the gash made in the shield of Dementors by the hippogriffs. Just as Draco began to utter the killing curse, the sun struck the vampire in the face and he cried out in pain. He too looked up and became instantly aware that his situation was precarious. Stunning spells and death curses began flying in both directions. Harry reached for his wand, but Draco kicked him in the side and Harry's vision filled with stars.

"You… I did this for YOU!" Draco's face was red and bulging, not so much from the stinging rays of the sun, but from the fury swelling inside him. "And this is how you repay me!" He glared at Harry, pulled a vile from him robes and threw it to the ground, shattering the glass and splashing a green liquid everywhere. Then his gaze drifted toward his father, prone on the ground. The anger driving his expression crashed into a look of defeat.

"I'm done," Draco muttered. "You can all go to hell. I've nothing left." Draco bent down to hold his father's arm and, without so much as a flick of the wrist, the pair Disapparated. Immediately after, the air filled with pops and snaps as the Death Eaters followed. The remaining assemblage of Dementors, lacking the luxury of such a hasty escape, battled in retreat. The creatures looked like a distant, burgeoning thunder cloud as Dementor after Dementor streaked from the sky in a constant downpour of death, bolts of light flashing against the darkness.

Harry's vision began to tunnel as his mind tried to hold on to Draco's last words, but they slipped past just as the ground exploded next to him. Cho, oblivious to Harry's presence, was casting spell after spell, onto the spot where Lucius had lain but a moment before.

"Die! Die! You bastards!" She screamed, holding her wand in a trembling hand, her knuckles white with anger. He'd never known this person and, as his mind reached out to sense her aura, his heart skipped. Two colours flickered in his mind's eye as Cho crumpled to her knees and began to sob violently.

Harry tried to focus, to understand what he was seeing, but his mind couldn't hold on to anything; he'd lost too much blood. For the first time, he looked down at his chest. The gashes were wide and blood continued to trickle freely between the flaps of flesh.

"Oh," he muttered, clawing blindly at the ground to find his wand. He needed to try to stop the bleeding. There was a scream. Gabriella was standing over him. "Hi," he breathed. "Bit of a mess, eh?" His elbow gave out and he landed flat on his back. "I… I thought you said it never gets cold here." He began to shiver uncontrollably.

Blue light filled his vision and Gabriella began an incantation Harry didn't understand. Then there was another voice.

"Gabriella? Harry?" It was Sirius. "Bloody hell!" There was a low screech and the fluttering of wings.

"Buckbeak?" Harry asked weakly. "I thought I'd—"

"_Shhhh,"_ interrupted Gabriella, placing her fingers over Harry's lips. "You need to rest." She turned to Harry's godfather. "Sirius, praise Asha you are well. Was that Nymphadora?" Another blue light, tinged in green, sprang from Gabriella's wand and bathed Harry's chest. The wounds began to fade as his skin began to stitch itself together only the bonds weren't holding as Gabriella expected.

"Half the Order's here. Remus sent word that there might be an attack. We went out to scout and found ourselves up to our necks in Dementors. I thought we were all done for, but then there was the explosion and the sky filled with fire." Sirius took Harry's hand. "They scattered. Harry, how did you—"

"Murdering Malfoys," spat Cho. "They killed Tony."

"No," Sirius gasped. "Where? How?"

"The explosion," said Gabriella. "It blew the castle walls in and the air filled with fire."

"And Jamie?" asked Sirius anxiously. Gabriella touched the head of the sleeping child on Cho's back and revealed his presence. An audible sigh of relief past Harry's lips as he understood the reason for the two auras.

"No fire can penetrate one with Asha's blessing," said Gabriella. Cho, still dazed, seemed not to understand.

"Of course," Sirius whispered.

The cobwebs began to clear from Harry's mind and, at last, he was able to pull in a full breath of air into his lungs. Against Gabriella's protestations, he sat up, running his fingers across the thin lines on his chest. They were still oozing blood.

"I can repair those in a few days," said Gabriella, "but you need to rest. I can't refill the blood you've lost."

"I… I can't rest," said Harry. He grabbed Sirius by the sleeve. "Where is he? Have you seen him? Did he reveal himself?"

"Who?"

"Voldemort!" snapped Harry. "He… he couldn't have taken over Lucius. Not the way Draco was talking to him."

"We had some decent fights on our hands, Harry, but no one's shown power like Voldemort. I'm sure he's not—"

"He's here!" interrupted Harry. "I know he is!" There was a wild look in his eyes that sent a blast of cold into Gabriella's heart. He tried to bring himself up to one knee. "Jamie. We've got to get Jamie to Hogwarts."

"You're not going anywhere," said Sirius. "Not in the condition you're in now. You couldn't Apparate from here to the… where are the stables?" Harry swayed and Gabriella caught him.

"Gone," said Harry, shaking his head to gather his senses. "I—"

"What do you mean, '…no one's shown power?' Why couldn't he have been Lucius?" asked Cho, now holding Jamie in her arms. "Maybe I've destroyed him." The boy stared at Harry, his bright green eyes seemed to be asking why Harry had killed his father.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"Sirius," said Cho with a short snap, "look around you. You don't think this took power? This had to be Voldemort's hand." Harry seized on the idea. Anything to get Cho and Jamie away from here, especially now that the castle's protections had been breached.

"Yes," he said. "Hogwarts. You two have got to go back to Hogwarts." Gabriella cast him a scathing glance, but said nothing. "Ron and Hermione are expecting you."

"Hermione," added Gabriella, almost as if correcting Harry. "Go see _Hermione_."

"But—"

"Ron won't understand, won't appreciate what's just happened," said Gabriella. "You know what he's like when it comes to dealing with emotions, Harry. Hermione will know what to do to take care of Cho and Jamie when they arrive." Harry pondered this for a moment and then nodded his head in agreement.

"Well, they won't be travelling alone," said Sirius. "I'll send a group of—"

"We can't announce to the world that something's up," said Harry. "No one must know they've arrived. If they can get to Hogsmeade undetected, they'll be safe from there. I've already made the arrangements." Sirius stroked his moustache.

"Then Tonks," he said finally. "She can look like another student, or maybe James, Cho's brother. What do you think, Cho?"

"We need to bring Tony back to his parents," she said, her eyes now set on the broken castle in the distance. "They need to know what Voldemort did to their son." Harry could feel Gabriella's fingers grip tightly into his arm, her nails ready to break through the skin. Still, he said nothing.

"I'll make sure it happens," said Sirius solemnly.

It took some time before the other members of the Order returned from the fight. Harry was forced to sit in one of the corners of the rubble while others cleared debris. Tonks did little more than nod at Harry and helped about the castle in any way she could that meant she didn't have to interact with him. Harry was surprised that George was there, but grew uncomfortable when he and Kingsley began discussing how Voldemort had nearly melted an area over two kilometres in diameter.

"I could have sworn I saw two dragons heading north," said Kingsley. "You don't think they've joined forces with him. If the dragons take his—"

"Don't say another word," snapped Gabriella. "I won't stand here and listen to such rot."

"Of course not, my dear," said Kingsley with a bow of his head. "Of course not." He put his arm about George and the two continued to chat in hushed whispers as they walked to the further reaches of the castle.

Gabriella cursed under her breath and flashed eyes of fire at Harry. She had grown more and more agitated as the preparations were made for Cho's and Jamie's departure and was now pacing back and forth, biting the nails on her right hand.

In all the activity, Harry's mind faded in and out of awareness. He was suddenly roused when Tonks announced they were ready. When he looked up, he saw Gabriella talking to Tonks, but then Gabriella, a second Gabriella, walked into the room. The first Gabriella turned and Harry realized it had been Cho all along. The lengthening of her hair had confused him.

"You two could be twins," he said with a smile, but neither returned the expression. Instead, Gabriella made one final plea that everyone stay put, just through the night. But even Sirius was concerned that the Death Eaters might return with reinforcements. Harry stood, and immediately began to sway. His vision, once more began to tunnel. Gabriella offered her support as he limped over and hugged Cho. His mind flashed at once to the fateful moment. _What had possessed him?_ A great lump landed in Harry's throat and he dwelled on what he'd done to Anthony; it was all he could do to hold back the tears. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his knees weakening. "I swear I'll make it up to you. I'll be there as soon as I can. Tonight, if possible."

"You'll be lucky to make it there in two weeks," said Sirius.

Tonks stepped forward and changed her appearance; she now looked like Madam Rosmerta, only Harry never noticed Rosmerta wear such a glum look before. "Let's go guys," she said, and Cho stepped over to her, Jamie once again camouflaged and held in a magical sack on her back. Harry kissed his son on the head.

"Don't listen to Sirius," he whispered. He was feeling a bit dizzy now. "I'll protect you now; I swear. I'll protect you both. Don't… don't let these wounds fool you. I have the power to—"

"They'd best be going," Gabriella interrupted. Harry took a moment to realize she'd spoken and then nodded his head.

"Right. Good-bye, Tonks," he said with a wave. He took in a gulp of air, trying to gather some semblance of control and composure, but it didn't work. Everything was losing its colour, taking on casts of gray. Tonks just barely acknowledged his gesture with a nod of her head. "By the way, what ever happened to Finnius?" Harry asked about the wizard that had been following him earlier in the year. "Is he an Auror yet?"

"He was killed in France," replied Tonks with no emotion whatsoever, her eyes not meeting Harry's, but instead drifting to Gabriella. For a moment Harry's heart filled with distrust and he closed his eyes looking to examine Tonks' aura. He was amazed to see the multiple colours. It was like looking at a flaming rainbow.

"_Metamorphma__gus,"_ Harry muttered to himself. Of course she would appear like that. He moved to hold out his hand in front of his face, just to see if maybe he too had the same property. He tried to transform, but the effort was too much for him and his hand dropped to his side. Gabriella grabbed his shirt just to keep him from falling. The effort, however, caught Tonks' attention and for the first time she looked at Harry.

"Have you practiced at all?" she asked.

"Not really," he said. "I can't do it unless it's someone I've been close with." Tonks nodded knowingly.

"You know, Harry. You're as great a wizard as there ever was. If you put your mind to it, in a year's time you'd be teaching me a trick or two." She made an effort at a smile.

"I'll try."

"Oh, Harry," said Tonks. "That's not near good enough. If you want to win this war of yours, you'll have to do a hell of a lot more than just try." She took Cho's hand. "Ready?" she asked. Cho nodded and the two Disapparated.

"I don't know, Harry," said Gabriella, her voice uneasy. "Maybe I should—"

Harry's eyes rolled up in their sockets, his knees buckled, and he collapsed in Gabriella's arms. He heard, as if from a distant cave, Sirius bark orders to get him moved. Gabriella began to curse something in Armenian. Whatever it was she thought she should do would have to wait. She cursed again. Harry's translation skills were spotty at best, but they'd spent enough time in Armenia that he'd picked up a few words. In the mist surrounding his mind, he could have sworn he heard her pray to Asha to protect them all from Ron Weasley and Severus Snape. _"That couldn't be right,"_ he thought.

Then, before the fog consumed him, he was sure she muttered to herself in a faint whisper, "Duty first. Mama, you were right." He was being lifted and Gabriella's voice faded. "If I must, I will kill him."


	33. The Final Passing

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****33 – The Final Passing**

On the wall, in the portrait opposite his bed, the four masters performed. The viola, cello, and two violins were, as always, played with perfection even when the notes didn't seem quite right. The piece, Mozart's Dissonance Quartet, was apropos, he thought, and each note that hung in the air helped to soothe his soul. That they played at all hours in an effort to calm his nerves was a blessing he could never repay – particularly now, in his final hours.

There was a bright orange flutter; he watched as a feather slowly fell to the floor. He knew, before it struck, and he grabbed the sheets of his bed tightly, steeling himself. The room exploded with a thunderous clap and it felt as if a symbol had been slammed against each ear, squashing his head between with a tremendous crash. His mind seized, splintering the pain like shards of glass that raced down to his fingers and toes, shredding every nerve along their way. Since Christmas, he'd been having good times and bad times. This was _not_ a good time.

Albus Dumbledore slowly took in a long, deep breath, and exhaled, trying to find some moment of rest in the night's darkness. His magic had been fragmenting and what he once was able to control and focus with tremendous might was now scattered and, in the worst of times, dangerous to any around him. He heard someone, the portrait of Dilys Derwent, offer him warm assurances as she prodded him to rest and he tried to oblige, rolling on to his right side and curling into a ball with his pillow held in both hands and his knees caressing his elbows.

Raising his head slightly, Albus focussed on the lone candle in his room, flickering in the corner and, without saying a word, thought the incantation to extinguish it. If anything, the flame grew larger. He cursed his ineptitude under his breath and laid his head back onto his pillow. He sighed; the candle sputtered and went out. _How had it come to this? _

"Goodnight, Dylis," he whispered glumly as he closed his eyes, hoping that his episode had passed, but knowing that, even if it had, he would not sleep, not tonight. As he shifted on his perch, Fawkes sang a soft tune that blended seamlessly with the strings. Another feather fell to the floor, but this time its meeting with the hardened wood below went unnoticed. Instead, Albus held his eyes shut, but his mind open, expanding his consciousness outward, across the castle. It was a night time stroll he often performed with his mind and, even now, he used it to keep his mental faculties as sharp as they would allow.

The darkness was here, he knew that, but how or where, he hadn't the strength to discover what would reveal itself soon enough. Acknowledging his own inability, he let his mind turn to Harry and there it stayed for some time, resting in the confidence that the young wizard would be ready when the time came. "Yes… ready," he muttered to himself, shifting beneath the sheets. Then doubt crept in…

_Really? Do you think so?_

Yes.

_You thought his parents were ready too, didn't you?... Didn't you?... But they died. And now you place your decrepit hopes in the strength of their child! He's a boy, Albus! _

They weren't much older.

_And they died!_

It's not the same! His skill without a wand. His experience facing Voldemort.

_They faced him too… three times!_

His gifts. The blessings. This will be different. You don't understand.

_I__ don't understand? Me? That's comical. I understand everything all too well, but then so do you, don't you? Where is he, Albus? Where is he now? How could you let him go, when you know… you know that within these walls— _

I'm too tired for this.

_Then die and get it over wi—_

There was a gentle rapping upon a distant door. It opened. Albus had no inclination to get up to see who it was. He already knew.

"Professor? Professor, you said it was urgent." The voice of Remus Lupin made its way from Dumbledore's office. Fawkes called out, saving his master the strength of doing so himself. The music stopped and Albus heard the door to his bedroom creak open. Still, he did not move, but merely opened his eyes to stare toward the empty chair at the side of his bed. Remus moved to sit in it. Their eyes met and Dumbledore smiled, blinking.

"Welcome," he whispered. "Would you like some tea?" Without saying another word, a teapot and cup appeared at the table beside the chair in which Remus sat. "Just one lump, I recall." And a small cube of sugar appeared with a spoon. Yes, he was tired, but he would never be considered an ungracious host, or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself, _his doubting self,_ that his strength was surging forward again, if only for the time being.

"So tell me, Remus," began Albus, his blue eyes twinkling, "have the rumours leaked out that you'll soon be the new headmaster at Hogwarts?"

"They have," answered Remus, dryly.

"And have you now come to take your place of honour?"

"You know, of course, that most everyone believes you've gone mad," said Remus. Then a thin smile creased his lips. "Fortunately, if you can call it that, Arthur Weasley has kept the idea of a werewolf at Hogwarts alive at the Ministry. If there's a plan to kill the future headmaster of Hogwarts, then you've set the bull's-eye squarely on my back. Although, the rightful target might be a bit more suited at protecting himself than am I."

"Yes," answered Albus, "I'm sorry about that, but then I'm sure he's enough to be getting on with about now." Remus nodded and took a sip of tea. For a moment, Albus' mind drifted to all the lives lost that had offered their service upon his advice. He wasn't very proud of the number – some of the finest witches and wizards that he had ever known.

_Like Lilly and James._

Nor, did he take satisfaction in counting the number of lives saved.

_It was Ron that saved the Longbottoms, not you._

Suddenly, he was quite tired again.

"Does anyone else know you're here?" he asked.

"I had been expecting Severus to meet me at the entrance," said Remus with some bit of concern. His voice was quiet, but nervous. "I'm sorry I'm late. There's some disturbing news coming from Greece. I only received half of Sirius' last message. It sounds like the Carpathians all over again. I don't like it. The Centaurs have been losing ground and dragons have been seen in the area. I don't understand it at all. The last time I spoke with Antreas, he told me that the dragons had no interest in a war that didn't concern them. I'd go to the castle, but Harry's somehow made it unplottable. And now, I hear, the boy has gone to enter the fray. He believes Voldemort is searching for his son… Harry's son." Albus shifted on the bed, and Remus noticed. "How long have you known, Headmaster?"

Albus looked into Remus' eyes. It didn't take a Legilimens to know that the man seated beside him was looking to get a reaction. He sat up in his bed, pushing the pillow against the headrest and then leaned back against it. Another cup appeared on the table, the teapot poured more tea by itself, and the cup floated over to Albus' hands. He took a sip.

"Our Harry's no longer a boy anymore is he, Remus?" said Albus, and then he took another sip of tea. A tinge of concern crossed the right side of his face, but he pushed it aside. He'd hoped this news would be held more tightly. "Who told you?"

"Hermione Granger," said Remus, leaning forward. "Earlier this evening. And there's more, Albus. She doesn't believe that Voldemort has left Hogwarts as you had suspected."

Albus grumbled to himself. He should have known who before he asked the question – a sign that his powers were slipping. Of course Hermione would turn to Remus for help. Who else was there? Minerva didn't exactly evoke a motherly persona. He was weary, but moved to sit at the edge of his bed. Remus came to assist and he defensively pushed him away.

"I am not an invalid!" he snapped, trying to untangle his bedclothes from about his ankle. He regretted his actions almost at once, but chose not to apologize. He held out his hand and summoned his wand without speaking. Then, he blasted the bit of cloth still trapped about his foot, releasing it and letting it fall to the floor at the side of the bed.

"Better," he whispered, looking down at his bare feet and wondering if, perhaps, he should have worn socks to bed. The evening was, after all, a bit chilled and, what with the fire unlit, his bones were—

"Forgive me, Professor." Remus interrupted Albus' train of thought. _How long had his mind been wandering?_ "About Voldemort… I fear he may still be within the castle walls."

"Fear, Remus? There's nothing to fear. And... yes, he _is_ within the castle walls. Hermione was right to be concerned; the brightest witch I—"

"You knew?" said Remus, rising to his feet. "Why in Merlin's—"

There was a sharp knock at the door outside followed by a louder, more emphatic pounding. Albus closed his eyes and took in another breath. It was all happening too soon. He was supposed to be ready, to still have his powers in full command. He wasn't supposed to be some doddering, old—

"Shall I open the door, sir?" Remus asked irritably. It was clear Remus felt confused, and there was some part of Albus that enjoyed knowing that he still had the upper hand. He would keep it that way… for awhile.

"Enter, Severus," Albus muttered quietly and the door flew open. There was a hurried sound of footsteps and then a swirl of black issued through Albus' bedroom door – _always the dramatist_. Snape's eyes were wide and concerned. He took one look over at Remus, who now stood, and the side of his lip curled just a bit.

"Professor… Lupin," drawled Snape, slowly and deliberately with just the faintest tilt of his head. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I believe we have a… _situation_."

"Severus," said Albus with a sigh, "certainly, by now, you know that you may speak openly in front of our future headmaster." Snape blanched slightly at the word.

"Do you think that wise, sir? I'm not sure we can trust…"

"A werewolf?" snapped Remus. "Is that it, Severus? You can't stand that I'm here speaking with Professor Dumbledore about the future of this school. You think, maybe, _you_ should be Headmaster?" Remus stepped forward to face Snape. "Is that it?"

"More than one within these walls has fallen prey to the Imperius curse, Remus," countered Snape in a very steady tone. His calmness only angered Remus more. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but your skills at Legilimency are not as foolproof as they once were."

"Which puts into question where _your_ loyalties lay, Severus," said Remus, before Albus could answer.

"Enough!" cried Albus, rising to his feet and suddenly appearing more dangerous than ever. "Severus, you have something you wish to say, say it!"

"It appears that Patrick O'Riley has been under Lord Voldemort's control, at least since he was last seen leaving the Forbidden Forest."

"The Imperious you just spoke of?" asked Remus.

"No," answered Severus, and then he held the silence to add import to his following words. "He was under the control of Lord Voldemort, possessed of mind and body. Sometime, within the last hour, Voldemort has found another host."

"So he never tried to escape, once he was forced to flee Gabriella's body," asserted Remus. Albus stepped over to a basin that filled with water and he splashed his face, as Snape began to ring his hands.

"What's more," added Snape, "Mr. Potter has left the school to fight Voldemort, believing that the Dark Lord is leading the attack upon his godfather in Greece. So typical," he breathed. "What's worse, he has some misguided intention to bring back a rescue party to Hogwarts, believing it safer."

"We need to warn him," said Remus.

"It is safer," asserted Albus proudly. For a moment, he almost believed it true himself.

"Professor, you can't mean that!" said Remus moving closer to the headmaster. Then he turned to Snape in some hope that he might agree, but Snape didn't come to his aid. Then Remus said, "Do you know where Voldemort is, Severus? Who is the new host?"

For the first time in days, things began to clear in Dumbledore's mind. He knew what Snape was about to say, before he said it, and the regained power caused his lips to smile with satisfaction. The others took it as a discordant expression.

"He's taken over another student, Remus," said Snape. "Hermione Granger or her fiancé, Ron Weasley… probably the boy."

"WHAT?" cried Remus.

Ignoring the outburst, Snape continued. "They should be speaking with Minerva at any moment. I suggest we—"

"You let them walk off!" Remus cut in.

"What would you have me do? I tried to see which one was possessed, but was unable. If I had prodded further, Voldemort would have left none alive – that's not a sacrifice I was willing to take."

"Who? Your life or the student's?"

"Silence," snapped Albus. He'd heard enough. He knew what needed to be done, but for the first time in a long time he questioned the outcome. He stepped over to his clothes-closet and the door opened by itself. An instant later, he was adorned in an ornate, red robe. It had once been worn by Gryffindor, and Albus felt it a fitting way to end his tenure at Hogwarts. He took his first step toward the door, unsteadily. Remus moved to help him, but Albus pushed him away.

The elderly wizard stepped out into the office and walked over to a large silver instrument that had stars flying about it, some red, some white, and some green. He tapped it once with the side of his wand. The field of stars rotated into a new orientation. Each point of light represented a witch or wizard that Albus had been tracking through the year. The new orientation was now centred over Greece. He watched as the pinpricks of light representing Lucius and his son Malfoy continued to slide down from the north of the country. They commanded a great host of Dementors and a tingle of concern ran up Albus' back. Harry's faith in Draco was commendable, but Albus wasn't so certain.

The Dementors the Malfoy's commanded needed to be destroyed. They had multiplied far beyond their natural number; some black magic was at work. The Centaurs had no chance to survive the onslaught, and the number of wizards willing to battle was insufficient, once matched against the supporting Death Eaters. There was only one hope for success – dragon fire. But Remus was correct when he quoted Antreas; the creatures cared little of what Dementors destroyed so long as they did not cross dragon boundaries. Since the Carpathians, the Dementors moved with the knowledge of what had happened to their number there. In Greece, the Dementor army took care to stay away from dragon territory. Albus had tried to sway Grigor to call for the help of the dragons, but he had refused. Nonetheless, Albus was well aware of how the war was irritating the dragons. All it would take would be one small match to call them to service – Harry.

He tapped the side of the instrument once more and it shifted over Italy. There he saw two white lights in Apparation toward Greece. Harry had to complete this mission, even if he didn't know what it was. That, unfortunately, left the castle at risk; Albus knew all too well the prophecy. With Harry in Europe, Albus would have to face Voldemort without hope of winning. _But then, what, really, does winning mean? _With another tap, all the lights flickered out. Albus turned to face Remus and Severus.

"Remus, you must go to Hogsmeade," he said. Remus began to object, but Albus flashed him a glare that made him feel as if he were back in school. "If the rescue party arrives, we must be prepared to act quickly. You mustn't bring Harry's child to the castle; it's not safe. Instead, go to the forest, to the Centaurs. I'll send word to Magorian."

"Magorian?" Remus cried. "Why would he—"

"Because with you will be the child of their Chosen," Albus interrupted. "He will ensure you are safe, for now."

For how long, Albus did not know. Soon, the board upon which each of them played would change. The armies of Greece would focus back to Great Britain. Hogwarts would become a battle ground. There was only one thing about which Albus was certain – no matter the outcome of that battle, the war would be over, for better, or for worse.

"Go on, go on," said Albus, shuffling Remus out of his office. "Even should the Centaurs fail, within the forest are powers that will move to protect you. Find Hagrid… Have him escort you to Terntalag."

"Professor," implored Remus. "You haven't the strength."

"I have strength enough for this."

When the werewolf was gone, Albus moved to Fawkes and stroked the Phoenix's feathers. "Soon, it will be my turn to burst into flame. Will you send for me one last message, my old friend?" He summoned a small roll of parchment and imprinted a message upon it without saying a word. "Find Dakhil and bring him back. Do not take _no_ as an answer." There was a tremendous flash of fire and the bird had gone. Suddenly, Albus felt dizzy and his balance began to falter. Severus held him by the arm until the sensation past.

"Headmaster," said Severus dryly, "do you think it wise to trust the fate of Hogwarts upon a werewolf, a vampire and a Death Eater? If we should fail, the history books will point to your decision to entrust the three of us as the reason for our downfall."

"And when we succeed, Severus. What then?"

"They'll say you were a genius, and hate us just as much."

Albus shook his head. "Severus, your attitude has been your—" A flash of fire filled the room. There, near Albus' desk, stood Dakhil Barghouti with a small, featherless Fawkes cupped in his hands. Offering only the smallest of nods toward Severus and Albus, he walked the bird to its perch and set it gently down. He stroked the bird's bare head.

"I thought the boy was to handle this," he said sullenly, his back still toward Albus.

"Harry is… preoccupied," said Albus with the smallest of chuckles. Dakhil spun to face him.

"Is this some sort of game to you, Dumbledore? Every moment that that stupid comet hangs in the sky, every second that passes where Centaur and Dementor battle, Singehorn grows irritated by what he sees as petty bickering. That wizards have taken sides… Arrgh! You know what happened before!" Dakhil's eyes were on fire, but Albus took no offence.

"That is why we must act now, Dakhil, before it is too late. He's here, and he's not as strong while possessing another."

"This was not Soseh's vision," said Dakhil sternly.

"No, but it is mine," answered Albus, and in that moment his stature rose and he looked down upon Dakhil without his half-mooned spectacles. Dakhil's eyes did not flinch.

"Without me there to sway his thoughts, Singehorn will take matters to the next level. Are you prepared to live with the consequences?"

Albus' thoughts rolled to those earlier in the evening. _How many more must die?_ Then, almost reflexively, laughter burst forth. "Live?" he said sardonically. "If I'm not mistaken, none of us in this room plans to live much longer, or am I mistaken?" His eyes scanned Dakhil and Severus; each held his gaze with pride. "Good, then we are agreed. No one is to warn Harry." He tightened the scarlet cloak about his shoulders.

"And you Severus, will he trust you still? Does he yet suspect?"

"Upon her life, Minerva would never show him the letter I sent her. He will wonder, but he won't know. Leave that to me, Headmaster. In the end, he will have no choice but to trust me."

"And are you prepared?"

"Longbottom provided me with the two identical roots just last week. He grew them in the caverns by the light of fireflies. Amazing, really. I would never have dreamed…" Severus took a deep breath and exhaled. "The potion is ready," he said, patting the left breast pocket of his robes.

"Good… good," said Albus. His heart was beginning to race with anticipation of what they were about to do. "Let's—"

"Professor!" cried one of the portraits. "Minerva, she's under attack!"

"Damn!" cursed Snape. "She didn't have her wand."

"Quickly!" said Dumbledore, not moving toward the front door, but, rather, toward a large dressing mirror that stood in his bedroom.

"After over 60 years, I have a learned many things within these stone walls and still this castle holds secrets it may never share with me."

"So it is with dragons, Headmaster," replied Dakhil.

Without saying another word to the others, Albus jumped through the mirror and appeared into the corridor leading to McGonagall's office. A moment later, the other two appeared as well. Still quite early in the morning, a few students had been roused by the large explosions that had taken place. A group of ten to fifteen stood nervously outside McGonagall's office, its door shut. Smoke was billowing out through the crack at the top of the door, while water seeped out through the crack at the bottom. Most of the students were unwilling to approach the door, but two students kept casting various spells in an effort to open it – James Chang and Luna Lovegood. James was about to, physically, take another run at the door, when Albus called for him to stop.

"Stand aside, Mr. Chang," he commanded. The students all plastered themselves to the walls of the corridor as Albus, Dakhil and Severus moved forward, but James stayed at the door.

"Is it true what they say, Professor?" James asked. "Has he taken Ron now? Is he in there… Voldemort?"

"Yes," answered Albus, stepping in front of James. Albus reached for his wand.

"Then he's only used the killing curse," asserted James knowingly.

"And how would you know that, Mr. Chang?" drawled Severus.

"Because his wand's cursed, Professor. Ron's is anyway." James quickly became agitated and uncomfortable. "I was sleeping and… somehow… remembered. When I went to Gryffindor, the Fat Lady said he'd left. Then I heard the explosion." James' fists rolled into a ball. "It was… I did it, when he was me… in me… on the train. He knew Ron would never use a killing curse. It's supposed to explode if he uses a stunner. He was hoping Harry might be nearby."

"Explode?" snapped Snape. James nodded without holding the professor's gaze.

"It should kill him," he muttered to the floor. "And anyone nearby." The three professors exchanged looks.

"We can use this to our advantage," said Dakhil.

"Knowledge is power," said Albus brightly. He held his wand against the door. The resultant tingling in his fingers ran down his forearm and stopped.

"Tom was in a hurry, when he shut this door," he whispered to himself. "Sloppy. Maybe he's being sloppy about other things as well." He tapped the door with his wand and whispered, _"Domito!"_

The door swung open and water gushed out into the corridor. Inside, everything was drenched, but various pieces of wood continued to smoulder, sending an acrid smoke into the air. Albus stepped forward; the office was a disaster. In the centre was a large oak desk, tumbled to one side. Few would notice the marking on the desk's back matched the embroidery of Professor McGonagall's evening shawl.

"Minerva," he gasped, running to the desk. When he touched it, Professor McGonagall transformed back. The left side of her body was badly burned, but she was still alive. When he repositioned Minerva onto her back, her eyes opened and she began to cough.

"Hermione," she gasped. "He's got… the girl." Her finger pointed to the room behind her office. Normally, there would be a door there, but now some band of darkness had sealed it shut. Dakhil called for James and Luna to take Professor McGonagall to the hospital wing. Luna levitated her off the floor and James helped guide her through the doorway.

"Don't worry, Professor," said Luna calmly to McGonagall as they made their way out into the corridor. "With all this business about dragons, my dad just discovered that Skrewt manure makes a wonderful burn salve. Jeanie!" she called to one of the Ravenclaw second years. "Go into my trunk and get out the big brown burlap sack." Jeanie took off in a run. "It's the one with the oozing green stuff on the outside!" Luna called after her. Minerva groaned, but Albus didn't think it was because she was in pain.

For the briefest of moments, he smiled to himself. Such joys always happened in the twinkling of an eye and, if one were not vigilant, they could slip by unnoticed. He drew strength from that joy and turned to face the band of darkness now baring their way.

"This may prove more difficult," he said softly. Again he touched the darkness with his wand. There was a flash of pain, and then glaring red eyes.

"_I'm not finished,"_ whispered a cold, high voice. The vision vanished, leaving Albus in front of the door again.

"This is my house, Tom," said Albus defiantly at the entryway. "Here, we play by _my_ rules." He looked back at Dakhil and Severus. "Prepare yourselves," he said with a voice that was itself cold and empty. "Dakhil, take care of the girl. If we succeed, you know what must be done." Dakhil bent down, tapped a piece of trash and, without touching it, levitated it to an inner pocket in his robes. "Severus?" Snape removed the stopper from his vial and drank the thick, black liquid inside.

"My friends, this may be our only chance," said Albus with the voice of a soldier about to send his troops into a battle he knows they cannot win. "Whatever the cost, he must never touch Harry's boy." He slipped his wand into his robes. "Tell Harry—"

There was a scream from within. Forgetting what he was about to say, Albus placed his hands on the stone wall. He whispered a few incantations and then, as if he were a ghost, his hands melted into the wall. He took one last look back at the wizards standing beside him, a twinkle sparked in his eye, and he disappeared completely into the stone. Suddenly, the walls sparkled bright, glowing with tremendous ferocity. Albus had become the walls and the two wizards watched as the glow spread from one side of the room to the other. Soon, the glow enveloped the doorway. They waited in anticipation. Albus made his way, slowly spreading across Professor McGonagall's bedroom like an inkblot on white linen.

Hermione lay unconscious on McGonagall's bed, her clothes torn from her body. Ron, or rather Voldemort, was slipping on his robes, oblivious to the glow enveloping him; it was a light of goodness that he was blind to. When Albus had sealed the room, he concentrated his energy on the doorway and sundered the spell blocking the entrance.

Dakhil ran in first. With the instincts of a cat, Voldemort reached for his wand and green light erupted, striking the vampire squarely in the chest. Nothing happened.

"I expected more," said Dakhil with a scratchy voice that was almost scolding. Before Voldemort could react, Dakhil had jumped upon Hermione. He reached into his robes for the Portkey he'd just made and the two vanished.

"A vampire," said Voldemort with a disinterested sneer. "Pah, I was done anyway." He stepped to the doorway just as Snape entered. Voldemort didn't notice, but the dark bands had now been replaced with glowing ones.

"My lord?" asked Snape, uncertainty seeping through his expression. "Is it… is it really you?"

Voldemort reached for his wand, but Snape made no effort to protect himself. Just as Voldemort was about to cast his spell, the walls, the floor, the cracked and broken ceiling began to shake violently.

"I… have… you… both!" cried the stones in a low baritone voice that rumbled like thunder.

"Parlour tricks don't scare me, Dumbledore," said Voldemort, looking around with concern. He stepped toward the doorway, but found it sealed. He cast multiple spells at it, and still he could not pass. Then his wand turned to Snape. "What is this trickery?"

"Did you both think you could fool me," the stones rumbled again, "within my own castle walls? Now you're _both_ mine!"

"I came as quickly as I could, my lord," implored Snape. "I followed the—"

"_Crucio!"_

Snape began to scream in agony, but the screams were short lived. Voldemort was more concerned about the box he was in. The fact that he left Snape alive made the walls glow more brightly, a brightness he still could not see.

The walls shook again, only this time they began to move inward, making the room smaller.

"Your end is at hand Tom; there is no escape," they rumbled. Then they shuddered, "You will both pay for your deceit."

Voldemort glared at Snape as dust and pebbles rained down upon their heads. "Is he in the walls?" he yelled, his voice growing a bit more unsteady. Snape, still curled on the floor, nodded his head. Voldemort cast a killing curse at the walls. A few stones shattered, spraying debris everywhere, but the walls continued to move inward. Voldemort cast another curse, then another and another. Still, nothing happened. He was so intent upon the wall moving toward him, that he didn't see Snape muttering a shield charm and moving away, as far away as he possibly could.

At last, Voldemort stopped and just glared at the wall. Frustrated and desperate he yelled, _"STUPEFY!"_ The ten inches of ash exploded, throwing Ron against the far wall with a sickening crack.

The smell of burning flesh filled the room as Snape stood up and placed the side of his face flat against the wall.

"Guide him to the falls, Severus," said Albus. "Make him believe."

Severus nodded and walked over to the crumpled heap on the floor. Ron's eyes were open, his legs twisted in an unnatural way and most of his right arm was gone. Snape watched and waited. What should have been instantaneous, was taking far longer than either Snape or Albus anticipated. After a moment, Snape began to bend down next to Ron to see if, perhaps, he was mistaken. It wasn't until he touched the side of Ron's neck that a thin green smoke began to billow out of the young wizard's open mouth. At once, Snape fell to one knee.

"My lord," he whispered with bowed head. The smoke swirled about him once, as if sniffing for a trap, but then entered Snape.

From brick and mortar, Albus watched as Snape rose to his feet and turned to face the wall. There, before him, Snape's black eyes turned red. He pulled his wand and an expression of pure rage spread across his face. He pointed the wand at Ron's lifeless body.

"Dare try to take me with you!" Snape kicked Ron in the side like a sack of potatoes. Then, he moved to cast a spell and the room shuddered again, closing in yet tighter. Snape withdrew his wand.

"There's still time, Dumbledore, if you still have the strength. Want to trade? Will you let me go to save this boy, or will you choose to let his spirit forever haunt the girl he loves so dearly?"

There was a large snap at the doorway as Albus released the spell at the entrance. Snape tapped the area once with his wand, and then ran away, disappearing into the outer corridor.

Albus pulled away from the walls and reappeared in corporeal form next to Ron. The old wizard's knees were weak, and his scarlet red robes were torn and scorched. He ignored the commotion in the outer office as he placed his hand on Ron's forehead and then closed the boy's blank eyes. He slipped his wand from his robes and began to mutter the incantation he had used to save Harry the year before. This… this would be more difficult, but it was the only thing that could be done, if there was still time.

The clatters and screams from outside fell away as Albus probed inward, searching for Ron's life force. It was not unlike Legilimency, but finding the delicate threads of life from one so near death was much more difficult. Hoping for some sign of life, he expected to see not but darkness, when a glowing tentacle of pure energy whipped around from nowhere, grabbing his own life force by the throat. It was the first time Albus had been truly stunned in nearly seventeen years.

"You're going with me, Voldemort!"

It was Ron's will, his mind fighting to hold on to the darkness that had controlled him. That explained what had taken Voldemort so long to emerge from Ron's body. Ron knew he was dying and had tried to take Voldemort's life with him. If it hadn't been for Snape's touch, providing just enough life energy for Voldemort to escape, Ron might have been successful. Even now, nearing the terminus of this plane, Ron's energy was formidable. If Albus wasn't careful, they might both be lost.

"It's me, Mr. Weasley," he gasped, choosing not to struggle against Ron's entangling snare. "Professor Dumbledore."

"You think I'm a fool?" Ron's voice echoed from the darkness beyond. Albus could tell that, this time, the voice was fainter. Ron's energy was moving away.

"Mr. Weasley, only I know why you're hoarding socks. Not even Hermione knows that, does she?" The grip about Albus' neck slackened.

"_Professor?"_

"Voldemort has escaped; I've come to save you." Albus held out his hands and the darkness erupted with green flame that spread outward in all directions.

"No!" cried Ron. "NO! You can't! Not after what I've done. I won't go back."

Spreading, reaching, the flame finally touched Ron's life energy and Albus sensed at once that it was somewhere above and to his left. In this realm of nothingness, a vast desert between life and death, he saw a golden light flickering at the edges of the expanding green flame. He reached out with all his strength to take hold, but it resisted, pulling away. Albus' own energy surged outward and away. He might be able to try one more time. If he failed, they'd both be dead.

"Mr. W— Ronald Weasley," his tone was deliberately scolding. "What would your mother say? Do you think, when you slip into her arms on the other side, that she will greet you with warmth and affection? She might apply a properly placed switch of hickory, if she has one ready. Do you think she died fighting Voldemort so that you could simply run away? Will she introduce you to Godric as a fine example of bravery and loyalty to his friends?"

"But—"

"I don't care what that filth made you do. Your friends will always love you. Hermione needs you. Harry needs you. We all need you, now more than ever. Will you turn your back on all Hogwarts? Dying is the easy part; living is the greatest risk of all."

The golden glow flickered and then flamed bright. Albus knew Ron was trying to return and, in that instant, reached out again with one last, great surge of energy, giving all of himself to ensure success. Their life forces united and Albus pulled him close, infusing Ron's energy with his own.

For a moment, surrounded by a glimmering green glow, the two wizards met face-to-face in the plane between life and death. Albus took one of Ron's hands and then waved his other revealing a passageway, rimmed in luminous alabaster. "Your destiny lies beyond that door, Mr. Weasley. Your mother will be proud. I'm sure Godric will never hear the end of it." Albus' face beamed, but Ron's was frightened and his shoulders slumped.

"I'll never be able to face her," he whispered as his anxious eyes stared warily at the door.

"Ms. Granger?" said Albus kindly. "She could not live knowing that she might have done something to prevent your death."

"There's nothing she could have done!" snapped Ron.

"Then tell her that," said Albus. "And when you do, look in the mirror and say the same thing to yourself – there's nothing you could have done." The aged wizard felt his life force ebbing away and his hand slipped from Ron's. "Through the door, Mr. Weasley."

"Professor!" cried Ron. "Wait! You can't—"

"And tell Harry…" interrupted Albus as he began to fade into the dimming flames of green, "…tell Harry that I'm sorry, but all I ever did was out of love."

"But—"

"And Ron, tell him not to worry. He'll make a wonderful father… as will you."

The distance between the two wizards stretched to infinity, and Albus could feel the last threads of life slip away. Still, he held fast to the earthly realm until he was certain: Slowly, Ron moved toward the rim of alabaster, passed through the door and returned into the brightness of life. Satisfied, Albus smiled and turned to face the brightness now waiting to greet him.

* * *

_Author's Note: Sorry for how long this took to post, but it's been a hard chapter for me to write, __positioning from Dumbledore's POV and all. I'm still not satisfied with the tone. But, Harry was telling me to get on with it… I guess he prefers the limelight. Your thoughts and inputs are welcome. The great thing about fanfiction is that it can be edited! _


	34. A Point of Departure

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****34 – A Point of Departure**

It was a stone. It wasn't a very large stone, more like a pebble, but one corner of it, at least, was very sharp. It protruded up off the ground and nipped at Harry's back like a baby dragon nibbling at its mother's haunches. Only, Harry's back was much less forgiving and the stone far more tenacious. He lay there, in the darkness, debating what he should do. He knew, on Merlin's grave, no matter how hard he tried, there would be no chance that he would simply go back to sleep. He'd already tried to shift… a little, but that only caused the stone's sharp edge to scrape across Harry's back. There was nothing for it; he would have to get up. Besides… he had to pee.

But on second thought, he could reach for his wand. That wouldn't hurt… much. Maybe he'd summon it under his breath. He could just pee where he lay and then clean the mess up after. _Who would know?_ Gingerly, his hand slipped further to the right, but then stopped. Gabriella, now sleeping at his side so close he could feel her breath against his shoulder, might know if he weren't fast enough… and, the more he thought about it, he did have to pee pretty badly. That wouldn't do; being married was no excuse. The stone nipped again, reminding him of his predicament, as the light of Ebyrth streamed through the crumbled walls of the castle and bathed the couple in a white glow now more intense than any full moon.

Swearing he wouldn't swear, at least not out loud, Harry rolled over onto his right side to better position himself so that he could then rise to his feet. The motion wasn't much, but the sensation was intense. Stars of pain filled his vision as the agony screamed across his body. It radiated outward from the wounds on his chest that refused to heal properly and penetrated every limb, striking the tips of his fingers and toes like a sledge hammer and bouncing back to his very core. Clenching his teeth, he fell to his elbows, his forehead flat on the floor, and he swallowed the scream.

Harry, Gabriella and a handful of the Order were still on the grounds of Sirius' castle, but there had been so much damage caused by Harry's spell, a spell he still had not admitted to casting, there were only a few places safe to sleep in. Despite everyone's efforts to magically support the structure, portions of the ceiling would crumble down, walls would collapse, or, worse, suddenly appear. Sirius had asked Harry to travel to St. Mungo's, but he refused. In his present state, he felt he was too great a target and he already knew that St. Mungo's was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a safe haven from darkness.

Harry lightly slapped the floor with his palm, sending dust into the air. W_eeks!_

It had been weeks and still his wounds would not mend. Early after the attack, a Healer from St. Mungo's had come to see Harry and had muttered some gobbledegook about vampire venom. "Quite an unusual case," he had said, passing Sirius a few potions and telling him to administer them with caution because of their potency. They were worthless. _No,_ thought Harry, as a pang poked at his lower abdomen. They were less than worthless. They only made him need to pee!

"Fu-uck!" Harry groaned out in anger, pounding his fist to the ground. He regretted it immediately. Before you could say, "They shoot horses, don't they?" Gabriella was awake and at his side.

"Harry," she exclaimed, gently placing her hand on his back. "Sweetheart, what in Asha's name are you doing?"

_Too late. _A puddle pooled about his knees.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Without a word, Gabriella had it cleaned. "You should have told me you needed help. I would have—"

"I don't need help!" he yelled. He would have pushed her away, if he hadn't known the agony he would have to endure for even the slightest motion. She said nothing and simply waited in the silence at his side.

The truth was he needed her more than ever. Without her help, without her support, he would have surrendered to his injuries long before now. Still, no matter how much love she could offer him, there was still nothing that could be done. No one's attempts to cure him had worked and the pain was growing worse with each passing day. Even being levitated from one place to another was pure torture. He could, no longer, count on one hand the number of times he'd been tempted to turn to the vivificus stone to heal his own injury. Once, late at night, he'd gone so far as to remove it from its hiding place next to his liver and hold it in his hand, rubbing its moist surface with his fingers. He could not remember how much time had past before he returned the stone to its home. Now, his thoughts skittered on summoning it again.

He took in a deep breath and dropped flat onto the dusty floor. Another pebble poked at his shoulder. He smiled.

"Well, hell…" he said, blowing a small plume of dust with his words, "at least I don't have to pee anymore."

"Let me call Mama," said Gabriella, lowering herself down, laying her head flat in the dirt to look Harry in the eyes. "I'm sure she could—"

"No."

"Harry, don't be silly. You know her skill with potions, her relation with… Dakhil. If anyone has the experience to heal your wounds, it will be her."

"I told you already. It's not safe here. Merlin, you shouldn't even be here. You should be back at—" Harry stopped before he said _Hogwarts_ and swallowed. Word had arrived the day after Cho and Tonks had left with Jamie. Dumbledore had been killed by Voldemort. Cho, Tonks and Jamie had disappeared, but so had Remus and Snape.

Dakhil was the one that brought the news, a bit too gleefully, Harry thought. He seemed to enjoy repeating how wrong Harry had been in assuming Voldemort had come to Greece. He never said it directly to Harry, but repeated it to nearly everyone, just so Harry could hear… over and over. It had been a trap all along and Harry had fallen for it. When Dakhil had examined Harry's wounds, his eyes showed recognition, but he shook his head, commenting on how nasty they were, and had denied knowing of any cure.

He left, vaguely assuring Harry that all was well at Hogwarts. "They are hidden beyond even my reach," he had said. "As for Voldemort, that path depends on the strength of Professor Snape. By the count of three full moons, we will know."

"Why, what happens then?" Harry had asked, but Dakhil only smiled, flashing two rows of sharp teeth. "When you are well," he hissed, and disappeared.

Gabriella pinched Harry's earlobe, perhaps the only place she could touch that wouldn't send him into convulsions of pain. "You are NOT a magnet for death, Harry!"

"You've seen the ghosts that are left hovering about," said Harry, waving a finger into the air without lifting his wrist from the ground. "They think I'm already dead. The rest are at Hogwarts, thinking I'll bring them eternal peace, or something. Although, now that I think of it, I could use some eternal peace right about now. Gabriella, will you kill me when the time comes?"

"Argh!" she yelled in exasperation. "I don't care anymore." She let go of Harry's ear and crawled over to sit on the blanket where she and Harry had been sleeping. "I can see my mother anytime I want and I haven't seen her since Christmas. I don't need your permission, even if we have been joined."

Gabriella crossed her legs and held her hands together in her lap. She closed her eyes and a faint glow began to surround her. She was summoning her mother, Harry knew that. It was the way of the women of Asha. They were all linked; distance made no difference.

"I will not allow you to—" Harry began, but with a strike faster than a basilisk Gabriella had tapped him on the head with her wand. He was out cold.

Harry woke to the warmth of morning sunlight against the side of his face and the intense aroma of cooking sausages, wafting through the air. Notable was that the aroma didn't carry with it the blackened smell of burning meat, which told him at once that Sirius was, thankfully, not cooking this morning. He had yet to open his eyes, but when Gabriella began to laugh somewhere just to his left, he knew that she wasn't the cook either. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that Soseh had arrived. In fact, he kept them closed and, instead, Harry reached out to sense the auras surrounding him. He had not used this power since the attack and was surprised to see his vision filled with tremendous brightness. Nearly all the rubble still clustered in piles was glowing bright orange as if it were alive. It took some time for him to adjust to the brightness and detect the people about him: Gabriella… Sirius… Mad Eye… some unfamiliar wizard Harry couldn't recognize, standing in a pile of glowing orbs… Soseh! He dwelt upon her for a moment, and noticed her aura brighten. She was suddenly smiling.

"Gabriella!" yelled Soseh from near the fire and the cooking sausages. "Your husband is hungry. Can you not sense it? I thought I taught you better than that." A cool sense of fear splashed across Harry's insides. Without thinking, he brought his hands together to cover the ring burnished into his flesh. He didn't notice that the motion was not painful.

"Even an old woman like me can tell—"

"Sorry, Mama!" replied Gabriella, but there was a slight sense of exasperation in her voice which Harry had rarely heard when Gabriella spoke with her mum. She dropped next to him on her knees.

"I already knew you were awake," she whispered irritably. "You should know better than to go probing around with your mind and not expect Mama to sense you." He kept his eyes shut.

"I didn't know—"

"Is it true? Are you hungry?"

He understood the sceptical lilt to her question. Even though Gabriella was a wonderful cook in her own right and had fed the others until they burst, Harry had eaten little, particularly over the last week or so. The pain that had penetrated through his flesh and into his bones had been growing worse and even potions were difficult to swallow. He really had not been hungry and held a hidden fear that the reason for his lost appetite was that his cravings might one day turn toward blood.

_Hungry? _Now that he thought about it… the sausages did smell pretty good. He opened his eyes and took her by the hand, rolling her ring in his fingers.

"You told her?" he whispered. "About… us?"

"I didn't have to," she whispered back. "She saw the rings. When she asked, she saw my eyes. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Sorry?" He reached up to touch her face. It was then that he noticed; he had lifted his arm into the air and it didn't hurt. He smiled… for many reasons. "I love you. Have I told you that?"

"Not lately," she said with a sharp smile.

"I know. I'm sorry for that. I've been…" He turned and, for the first time that he could remember, looked down at the wounds on his chest. The gauze dressing that had been constantly seeping with blood had been changed and the velveteen cloth that now covered his chest was coated with some sort of paste that smelled of cinnamon and cayenne pepper. Steeling himself for the stabbing pain that did not come, he took in a deep breath. He exhaled in ecstasy.

"And did I tell you I love your mum more?" He smiled blissfully as he relaxed and glanced over toward Soseh who was busily preparing food, although Harry felt as if she was watching him nonetheless. Further beyond, Sirius and Mad-Eye were erecting a stone wall with their wands. Harry was surprised to see that they'd actually made great progress since last he'd looked. There was a young wizard with them, perhaps twenty-five, that Harry didn't…

"Antreas?" he asked, looking back at Gabriella and resting back onto the floor.

"Mama called for him, when she found out… about us," said Gabriella quietly. "She's all but told me that there's going to be a proper ceremony. She insists that it happen quickly because I'm not getting any younger. And if I hear one more crack about…" Gabriella drew in a deep breath, clenching her teeth. "Can you believe… she actually chided me for being one down to Cho?"

"One down?" Harry asked, trying to grasp the meaning. "Ohhh…" Harry couldn't help but smile. "I'm not really sure here's the best place to get started, but… if your mum insists..."

"Would you stop!" she said, pulling his fringe down into his eyes.

"Give the man some room, Gabriella," snapped Soseh. "He needs to eat!" Talking to Gabriella, Harry hadn't noticed how close Soseh had come. In her hand was a mug of steaming broth. Harry began to salivate, but the back of his throat was still sore and he didn't think he could swallow more than a sip.

"I need you to sit up, Harry," insisted Soseh. "Sit straight. We don't want this to go to waste." She held up the mug. Harry tried to sit up.

"Maybe just a little. I'm not really ready to—"

"Don't be silly," she interrupted and put her left hand behind Harry's back, while holding the mug with the other. With astonishing strength she lifted him forward. He expected her to lift the mug to his lips, but instead she held it against his stomach, just below his breastbone. _"A sá, se leen,"_ she chanted.

Harry thought it was an illusion of some sort. For an instant, her hand holding the mug disappeared into his abdomen and then reappeared. Harry believed he was seeing things until she held the mug upside down and smiled, flashing her gold tooth.

"Try to keep it down and in a few minutes you will eat properly."

She stepped back over to the stove and called for the others to come eat. While they gathered at a large wooden table near the stove under the open sky, Harry felt the warmth spread within him. Then, abruptly, there was an overwhelming urge to burp, but he resisted. The sensation past and with its passing came a new sense of strength and vigour. Yes, he _was_ hungry. Gabriella noticed the change.

"Harry?" she asked cautiously. He sat up completely, which drew some smiles from the others, most noticeably Sirius.

"Well," he sneered, taking a roll from a bowl in the middle of the table, "we nearly have the first floor finished and you decide it's time to get up from your nap. What a sluggard!"

Harry glanced over to the work that had been accomplished. For weeks, Sirius and various members of the Order had attempted to reassemble the walls of the castle, but always with little success. Shacklebolt had insisted that some nefarious dark magic was at play, and no one disagreed, figuring that whatever curse Malfoy had set upon the castle to destroy it was still present in the air. When the conversation led to such discussions, Harry always found his pain more agonizing and was rarely able to speak. Gabriella would wipe his brow with a cool rag, but the whiteness of her lips told him she knew more than she was willing to speak openly about.

Before joining the others at breakfast, Antreas cast one more spell at the wall. He spoke in Armenian, but Harry understood the spell: _Rest._

"Rest?" he whispered to himself, but Gabriella heard.

"Look at the stones Antreas has set, Harry," she whispered back. "See what the others cannot."

Harry let his mind reach out and noticed at once that the stones in the standing wall were cold, emanating very little light as he would expect. But the stones still piled about, remnants of the spell he cast that destroyed the castle were glowing hot as if they were still on fire… as if the very rock was alive. Gabriella took him by the hands.

"The stones hold too much energy to be mortared back together with simple magic," she whispered. "Antreas, one with the Votary, saw it when he arrived this morning. I don't think I've ever seen him so afraid before."

"Afraid?" Harry asked. "Afraid of what?"

"Not what, Harry. Who." Her eyes were stern and unforgiving as she pulled him to his feet, kissed his cheek and breathed into his ear, "Smile. It is expected."

It was the first time he'd been on his feet since the attack, and the motion drew applause from the others. He'd taken a few steps, when he realized he'd left his wand on the ground behind him. He turned, held out his hand and summoned it into his palm without saying a word.

"Okay, now you're just showing off, Potter," said Sirius with a smile. Harry's godfather then looked over to Soseh. "You're a miracle worker, Soseh," he said grandly. "A miracle worker."

"Such wounds are not uncommon to my people, Sirius," she said graciously. "You must spend more time in the mountains and you will learn as all those who have served the dragon."

"I think I'll stay right here near the sea, thank you very much." Sirius took a sip of coffee. "And with Antreas' help, we might just get this place done in a day or two." He repositioned a chair, pulling it out from under the table.

"Here, Harry," he said. "Take a seat. You still look a bit pale."

As Harry sat down next to Sirius, Gabriella moved over to help her mother. They were whispering, but Harry couldn't tell what they were saying. As Soseh turned toward the table with a platter full of food, she called to Gabriella over her shoulder, "And I don't see what a war has anything to do with me not having a grandchild!" She placed the platter in front of Harry.

"Have a sausage, dear," said Soseh, patting Harry's back, "and a few fried potatoes. And sip on this." She positioned another mug with a steaming potion in front of Harry.

"Would you stop, Mama!" cried Gabriella, taking out her wand and vanishing the mug from Harry's hands just before it reached his lips. "He barely had strength enough to walk over to the table!"

Soseh simply shrugged, rolled her eyes, and returned to the stove with a sly smile. Harry looked at the empty space between his fingers, where the mug had been, as the others laughed.

"Not all potions are healing potions, Potter," said Mad-Eye with a chuckle. "You'd best start carrying your own drink, if you know what's good for you." Mad-Eye pulled out his familiar flask, cheered Harry, and took a sip.

Nearly an hour had past before Harry had satiated his hunger. He ate slowly, with some effort, but enjoyed every bite. The others went back to work before he had completed the meal. Gabriella seemed to be watching her mother quite carefully, but there were, apparently, no more attempts at tinkering with Harry's food or drink.

The more he ate the more strength he gained. Before he was half done, his mind began to turn toward Hogwarts and the familiar anxiety about what was happening there began to creep back in. Injured and unable to do anything, he had been free not to take action. But with his strength now returning, he felt obligated to do something. Growing more anxious, his finger began to tap the side of his plate and Gabriella noticed his nervous foot tapping against the leg of the table. When he finally put his fork down, he'd felt for the first time in ages as if he was his old self again. But with that old self, came the old commitments and responsibilities that were, even now, beginning to weigh down Harry's heart.

"Thank you, Soseh," he said, "I owe you my life."

"Something like that," she said with a twinkle in her eye. Sitting across the table from Harry, she leaned toward him. Her eyes were piercing, penetrating, but her expression was as warm as any mother's. Somehow, he knew that she knew… his mind had turned toward Hogwarts and what he must now do.

"In your heart," she said softly, "you would go to protect those whom you love. I see you, even now, searching for the words to say good-bye."

Harry's eyes looked away. Soseh reached across the table and held his hand.

"My son, all the world calls for your aid, and you would do well to serve the noble causes that summon you. But…" Her hand gently tightened about his. "… you will be unable to serve anyone faithfully until you right the wrongs with which these grounds are suffused."

Harry looked over to Gabriella whose expression was sad… perhaps frightened. He'd never seen that look before and felt himself coming to a precipice. His heart told him that Soseh was right. He'd been living a lie, letting the others believe that Anthony had died at the hand of Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eaters. But his mind was calling him to defeat Voldemort before the darkness consumed his son.

Harry's eyes met Soseh's. "There's… there's no time," he said, shaking his head, his foot tapping up and down now, worse than ever. "I must return to—"

"If you leave now," Soseh interrupted, seeing the agitation in Harry's demeanour, "the curse you placed here will go uncured. Antreas can help to rebuild these walls, but only you can banish the anger. Only you can set right your own wrongs. If you choose to leave this darkness unchecked, the curse will follow you. You may succeed in saving your friends, but you will suffer the fate of Pravus."

The time Harry had spent with Gabriella's grandmother in Armenia last summer flooded back into his memory. He recalled her stories of Pravus, the ages before and the ages yet to come… the curses and counter-curses… the defeats and the victories of beast and magic. It was the stuff of myth and legend, the tales of old wives' and fairies. Why couldn't Gabriella and Soseh understand? Didn't they realize that Cho and Jamie could die? He needed to save them… save them now.

"Don't you see?" asked Harry, his hand now unconsciously tightening back about Soseh's. "Dumbledore's dead. I can't wait. Otherwise—"

"Harry, listen," said Gabriella anxiously. "You don't yet understand the extent of your powers. What you did here, not even Pravus was capable of, not alone. To summon the power of the dragon like you did… please, you need time… time to understand how to control your powers, time to explore how your strength and emotions connect. Anger only serves to—"

"I don't _have_ time!" Harry snapped back, slamming his hand into the table. He saw Soseh wince. Without saying a word she pulled her hand back.

"Mama?" said Gabriella with concern. Harry looked down and saw that one of Soseh's fingers was turned in the wrong direction. He'd forgotten they were holding hands when he slammed down into the table. He had broken her finger, but she hadn't made a sound.

Gabriella held her mother's wrist, pulled her wand and set the bone straight. For one, brief moment, Soseh looked up at Harry. She bore a sad smile, stood from the table and, before Harry could gather himself to say a word, walked away, disappearing behind a pile of rubble that bordered the edge of the repaired castle walls. Gabriella's expression, however, was the furthest from a smile. Harry had seen her upset before. He had seen her angry. He would sooner look into Voldemort's eyes than hold the expression now before him. He searched for what to say… what to do.

"I… I'm sorry."

Facing him, Gabriella stepped back from the table. The ground rumbled as another wall fell into place somewhere nearby. How close the others were, Harry didn't know. She pointed her wand straight at his chest and Harry fully expected to be blasted. He made no attempt to reach for his own. He deserved what ever he was about to get. But instead of casting a spell, she reached over and pulled the golden ring off her finger. With eyes of fire, she stepped close to him, and dropped the ring at his feet.

"I will not be married to the second Pravus," she said and slapped his face. Harry closed his eyes, there was a _snap_, and when he opened them, Gabriella had disapparated.

The ground rumbled again and Harry heard cheers from down a corridor. Antreas and the others were celebrating some sort of victory, perhaps another wall had been erected. He reached down and picked the ring up from off the ground. He looked at it for a moment, then slipped it into his pocket.

Alone in a kitchen with one wall that was open toward the sea, he looked around at the work that still needed to be accomplished. Perhaps twenty yards away was where Anthony had stood when Harry incinerated him. Suddenly, he felt very cold again.

Even if he could help to repair the damage he had done, it would take days to reassemble the final walls and then begin on the higher floors and parapets. Even if he was able to correct the wrongs of his actions, he had no idea how long removing such a curse would take – certainly longer than the time he had at hand. Voldemort could be attacking at any moment. Jamie was in danger and, if Voldemort reached Jamie, the world would be at risk. Harry would have to open the book on curses and fairytales another day.

As if in defiance, the walls rumbled again, but the shudder wasn't because of construction. There was a crash down the same corridor from which came, only moments before, the cheers of the others. Except, this time, Harry heard one of them desperately cry out, _"Sirius!"_

Harry pulled his wand…

"There isn't any time," he whispered to the walls.

… and disapparated.


	35. Light to Darkness

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 35 –**** Light to Darkness**

~~~***~~~

Tears clouded Harry's eyes as he tried to wind his way through the rock and brush, climbing Ostrý Roháč, Singehorn's Mountain. He was cursing with nearly every step – cursing his fate, cursing his destiny, cursing his stupidity. In his haste to leave, he'd forgotten that he couldn't apparate directly to the dragons' rookery and now found himself at the foothills of the mountain. More inept was his failure to consider the weather. It had been warm near the sea, but here in the mountains separating Slovakia and Poland over two feet of snow blanketed the ground and the skies were threatening more to come. He was fortunate that he had pants and trainers, but his shirt was just a cotton gauze that covered the velveteen fabric, dressing Harry's chest wounds. He'd forgotten completely about bringing a jacket or coat. It was so cold that the tears rolling down his cheeks were beginning to freeze.

"No time," he muttered to himself, plodding through the snow and pondering what fate might have befallen his godfather Sirius just before he'd disapparated. If he'd taken the time to think things through, he could have checked on Sirius, would have thought ahead enough to wear proper clothes, would have taken a broom as George had done and would, even now, be at the top of the mountain retrieving Voldemort's cloak. Instead, in advocating the need for haste, Sirius was somehow hurt, Harry was freezing, and he was now forced to climb by foot the very path that he had taken when he first met the dragon – a process that would take half a day even in the best of conditions. And then, of course, there was Gabriella.

"Second Pravus!" he spat, thinking of her last words. "B-Bitch! I'm going to s-save the whole b-bloody world!" His teeth began to chatter as his words died in the snowy silence. Crawling through the drifts, it didn't look like he'd be able to save himself, much less the world. The way ahead was as clear as ever; there was no chance that he'd get lost. There was, however, every chance that he'd freeze to death if he didn't do something. It's just that… he didn't want to do anything about his predicament. "Pay with your pain, Potter," he whispered, his words like smoke on the wind.

Absentmindedly, he thrust his trembling hands into his pockets and his right hand caught on something sharp. He pulled it out; a pinprick of blood dripped down his finger. The firestone of Gabriella's ring had caught the flesh. The sensation only made his heart ache more. It wasn't much more than a scratch. He could heal it with a thought, but he didn't have the heart. So much blood had been spilt on his account, what did a few more drops matter?

He sniffed. "Still biting at me, Gab?" he asked the frigid air, watching the small drip of blood flow down his knuckle until it caught the ring of onyx and swirled about his finger on the stone's surface. "I deserve it." As he observed the blood pool between his flesh and the dark ring of Pravus, a burst of anger filled his heart… _destiny be damned!_ And he tried to pull the ring from his hand – it wouldn't move. If anything, it felt as if the cold stone had tightened about the bone. He pulled once more and his hand slipped away.

"Damn you!" he cursed, yelling across the rocky mountain ridge and hearing the echoes of his voice curse him back, again and again. The clouds above were rent and the snow began to fall. For a moment he laughed, but then he fell to his knees and wept.

The snow piled up around Harry's shoulders, melting down his neck and soaking his clothes. The right thing to do would be to return to the castle, to apologize, to seek Soseh's advice and to help Sirius. But a foolish sense of pride, perhaps ego, prevented Harry from drawing his wand. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Beyond his unwillingness to return was a driving force calling him forward and he felt that, if he went back, he might never make it to Hogwarts in time. Instead, he would allow himself to be punished, to suffer his sins and climb the mountain on its own terms. Only, right now, the mountain was winning. It was with reluctance that Harry, nearly frozen, pulled his wand and cast a simple shield charm to protect himself from the elements.

The earth rumbled… violently. Stones, boulders, heaps of sand and debris began to cascade down the mountainsides from each edge of the valley pass Harry was climbing. He strengthened the charm as boulders crashed into and over him. While the shield held, the impact was jarring and he felt something give, tear. He looked down at his chest. The dressing Soseh had used to cover his wounds had pulled away just below his right collar bone and a tiny trickle of blood began to ooze out, seeping into his white shirt.

The earth shuddered again, only this time an enormous boulder pulled away from the side of the mountain. Harry tried to disapparate to keep himself from being crushed like a bug, but he'd passed too far into Singehorn's lands to do so. The enormous boulder spun around and Harry closed his eyes preparing for the impact.

"H-Harry?" came a low rumbling voice above Harry's head. Harry opened his eyes and looked up. The boulder was hovering before him, only it wasn't a boulder it was a giant.

"F-Florge?" Harry asked back. It wasn't the giant's appearance, Harry had been blind when the two first met, but rather the low, rumbling voice, that was so gentle and yet so terribly frightening at the same time. The ring that Harry had cursed only a moment before, was serving to translate the giant's words so Harry could understand, just as Florge could understand Harry.

"You're still here?" Harry asked. "On the mountain?"

"Good rock," answered Florge with a broad smile that revealed rows of large, squat teeth. "And venison." Florge flopped down to sit and another avalanche of rock began to tumble down. Harry brought up his shield again, but Florge scooped the stones away as if sweeping dried rice from off a tabletop. He popped a few stones in his mouth and chewed. As he continued to speak, gravel dribbled out the sides of his lips. "No venison now though. So Florge sleeps." He smiled again bringing a large finger up to his cheek. "But one eye always open… for Talisan."

"T-Talisan?" asked Harry, his teeth still chattering. "Why n-not Singehorn?"

The giant shrugged. "Talisan asks, not Singehorn. The Great Dragons are very busy in the east." Florge leaned toward Harry. "You are cold little one."

Harry, his arms crossed tight about him, looked away and shrugged much as the giant had.

"You are hurt!" said Florge suddenly. He had seen the blood on Harry's shirt. Before Harry could blink, the giant scooped him up into his hand and began to bound up the mountain. Harry remembered the last time he'd been held in a giant's hand and the memory was not a pleasant one.

"No, really, erm… I'm fine."

"Me chatting like an old granstone," said Florge, more to himself than Harry. The climb up the mountain was astonishingly fast. "I must sound the alarm. Were you attacked?"

"No… no… I… I tripped. Just a scratch, that's all."

_Primate. _A voice spoke in Harry's mind. Knowing a dragon was calling to him, he looked up and there, flying almost too high to be seen was Tanwen. There was a large screech from above; she was calling for the others to prepare the gates. Talisan flew at her side. By the time Florge had Harry to the wall, the great hidden gate had been opened. A handful of people waited at its entrance. _Votary. _ It was astonishing that they could have assembled so quickly, almost as if they'd been expecting him. Florge set Harry down by the group. The first to greet him was Katana.

"Primate," she said without much of an expression, as was her demeanour. "An unexpected surprise." She bowed to him and he returned the gesture, wondering if she had been surprised at all. She continued, saying dryly, "The lands have been quite still of late. Perhaps the weather. If we had been told you _both_ were coming, we would have been more properly prepared. I had assumed your plans would take you… elsewhere."

Harry looked up at Florge and then back at Katana. "Both?" he asked.

The giant reached over and patted Harry's head with a thump. His vision, momentarily, filled with stars. "I go now to rest at the bottom of the mountain." He rubbed his stomach and picked at his teeth with his tongue. "Perhaps some more granite. Then a nap. Keep one eye open, Harry. One eye… always open." As Florge headed down the mountainside, Harry looked toward the sky.

"Talisan, can you hear me?"

"_Yes."_

"Can you find Florge something more suitable to eat? Perhaps a large buck?"

"_Certainly__, Primate."_ Harry watched as the dragon swooped toward the forests.

"That was kind of you," Katana said, her voice softening. Evidently, she was eavesdropping in on Harry's conversation with the dragon. Dakhil had said that she was one of the elders of the Votary, but she looked no older than Sirius or Remus. As they walked to the caves, she offered another short observation. "Florge is unique among the giants. He has been quite loyal to Singehorn and has become good friends with Talisan." It was enough to cover the facts, but tickled Harry's curiosity for additional information.

"Where is Singehorn?" he asked.

"East."

There was a long pause and Harry finally felt compelled to say something more.

"Erm… I had hoped to climb the mountain myself," he said importantly, "but Florge thought I was wounded."

"As you are," said Katana calmly. The blood on Harry's shirt was now quite noticeable. "We have known of your injuries for some time. It is good to see you walking, but climbing the mountain alone is not wise, even in the best of times… even for one the likes of Pravus." They entered the caves, and Harry couldn't help but think that there was an edge, or purpose, to the words she'd just spoken. It was clear that the name Pravus was distasteful to Katana, but she had made a point of associating it with Harry. He dismissed the thought to his sometimes overactive imagination. There was no way Katana could know about his argument with Gabriella.

"Would that it was within his power to do so, Marek is not here to heal your wounds," said Katana as they made their way to where the injured had been treated during the battle. "There is, as I'm sure you know, one from the House of Hayk that can see to your dressing."

Harry wasn't sure who Katana was talking about. And he really didn't want to be winding his way further into the caves. He needed to get to the rookery. He needed the cloak… Voldemort's cloak. He needed to be off to Hogwarts. He needed to save Jamie from a developing darkness that was surely drawing down upon his son. He needed­—

"Wait," he said, pulling his wand, "I can take care of a little bleeding." He cast a healing spell to knit the small gash that had reopened on his chest. Nothing happened. The original wound had crossed from his right shoulder to his left hip. It had been completely closed by Soseh, but now a small opening, little more than two centimetres long, had appeared below his collar bone. It had seemed, to Harry, smaller when he first felt the tear at the bottom of the mountain. He cast the spell again, strengthening it with both word and wrist movement. He could feel the warmth of the blue light, the sensation that often accompanied such healing spells, but the spell had no effect on the wound.

"Understandable," said Katana, walking once again deeper into the caves. "Your training is incomplete." She chuckled to herself, which took Harry by surprise. "It appears that, by day's end, we _both_ will have learned something we should have known already. At least one can hope. It is fortunate that you are still bound, otherwise you might not have found your way here in time."

"Bound?" asked Harry, trying to decipher Katana's words. "To Singehorn? Yes, well, that's not why I'm here exactly. I… erm," he stopped, wanting to turn back toward the rookery, and held Katana's forearm to stop her as well. It did not appear that she appreciated the gesture and Harry quickly removed his hand. "Look, I really need to get to the rookery."

"Did you say, to Singehorn?" she asked. "You are not bound to Singehorn," she said, shaking her head. "You may remain Primate for as long as you desire, or choose your successor as did Dakhil." She started moving again. "We must be quick, before your wound worsens."

"It's fine really. I just—" Harry stopped. The wound on his chest had grown. Not by much, maybe half a centimetre, but he could see the gash had lengthened and the blood began to ooze from the wound more freely. Katana was a good ten paces ahead and still moving. Harry started after her. "Wait. _Dakhil_ chose me? I thought—"

"You are not bound _to_ the dragon, Primate," she said. "You are bound _by_ the dragon, indeed by nature itself. By your own action, by your own fealty, you wear the connubial ring and _that_ is a bond that cannot be broken except by death."

Harry was confused and the blood dripping onto his shirt allowed an inkling of worry to worm its way into his mind. He did not want to become bedridden again. "_To_ the dragon… _By_ the dragon… Am I missing something?"

Without saying a word, Katana cast him a look that said far more than a resounding yes, and then turned toward a cloth curtain that covered the passage to a room lit by firelight. Harry was too far back to see into the room as Katana pulled back the curtain. She bowed to someone inside. "With greatest respect to the House of Hayk, I must acknowledge that you were, in this instance, correct. I will mark it against my ignorance and thank youth for reminding me the magic of the old ways." Katana bowed again, but held the curtain open for Harry to pass within. "Primate."

Harry turned into the room. Seated on the floor with his back toward Harry was a healer, apparently a young healer, wearing a white cloak somewhat too large for him. Perhaps they were robes; it was too difficult to tell with the healer cross-legged on the floor, meditating in front of a tapestry that was not unlike the one Dumbledore had shown to Harry at Hogwarts. A white cowl covered the healer's head. As Harry stepped inside, Katana released the curtain and walked away. He listened as her footsteps disappeared down the passageway. The healer did not move, nor did he react in any way.

"Excuse me… erm… healer?" said Harry, not really sure how to address the person before him. The way Katana was speaking, you would have thought he was royalty and Harry didn't want to say the wrong thing. Still, he felt kind of stupid talking to the back of the guy's head. When the healer didn't respond, Harry became a bit irritated. The guy should have risen the moment Harry had entered the room. Harry was, after all, Primate. "Hey, I don't want to interrupt your trance… er… thing-y, but I could sure use your help."

The healer took in a deep breath, seemingly a calming breath, but still he didn't move. Harry couldn't quite understand what the big deal was and then, in his own mind, he understood, at least he thought he did.

"Oh! I get it. Hey, there's no need to be nervous or anything. I mean, I may be Primate, but it's not like I'm _almighty_. I'm just an ordinary guy… really. You shouldn't be scared of me. I'm just a simple wizard with an ordinary…" Harry's voice trailed off. There was nothing about Harry Potter that was ordinary. He'd nearly killed Seamus last year, and had just killed his son's stepfather, Anthony. Maybe word had reached the mountain. The dragons that had assisted Harry incinerate the Dementors may have spread the news. Perhaps that's why Katana was so cool toward him, dropping the name of Pravus like so much ice.

Harry looked down at his ebon ring and could see his own distorted reflection in its glossy surface. How often had Pravus seen his own such reflection? Had he always been evil, or had he changed over time, slowly corrupted by ultimate power? The scratch on Harry's finger left by Gabriella's ring had already scabbed over, but the wound left by Draco was growing worse. Soseh's mends were becoming undone and he was now feeling the early pangs of the pain that had debilitated him.

"Please," said Harry, an edge of sadness mixed with insistence in his voice. "I won't… I won't hurt you, but you really must take a look at this cut and then I'll go. I'm… I'm kind of in a hurry."

There was another long sigh.

"Look!" snapped Harry, all patience lost. "Get off your arse and take a look at my wound! I don't have much time!"

"None of us do, Harry. If this is what you've become, none of us do."

Harry fell against the wall, all sense of strength leaving his legs. He only saved himself from collapsing completely by grabbing the edge of a tall chair carved of hickory. The healer stood and turned to face Harry, but Harry already knew who it was.

She pulled the cowl back and her long, black hair fell down around her shoulders. Her eyes, blacker still, were cold and angry. The tapestry behind her flashed bright with flame and then dimmed.

"Tell me, do you even know why you are here?" she asked Harry, who thought he might lose consciousness at any moment. "You said that you were headed to Hogwarts, that you needed to save your friends, that you were out of time. And yet, here you are as am I, both seeking the same thing I suspect."

Gabriella calmly walked over to a large stone basin filled with water and washed her hands, drying them with a simple chant.

"When I arrived," she said softly, her voice distant and sad, her eyes still focussed upon her hands as she rubbed her fingers together, feeling for some filth that she could not cleanse, "Katana told me that you were off to fight the Phantom in England, to find your glory, to exercise your power. I had not spoken a word and still she knew these things. Did you know that you were so tightly bound to the Votary? She wanted me to chase after you, to stop you, fearing what you might become. But I told her that you would travel here to the mountain. She didn't believe me. I wasn't sure myself, but I guess some magic can never be broken."

"I… you…," stammered Harry. "I Apparated just after you. How could you know and how could you reach the top before—"

"Talisan was waiting in the village when I arrived. He flew me here."

"Waiting?"

"Why do you bother with such silly questions? Your Phantom awaits. If you're in such a hurry, why don't you just leave? Are you not still out of _time?"_

The question was meant to be provoking and Harry responded angrily.

"People could die!"

"_People_, already have!"

"That was an accident!"

Gabriella glared. "It was a choice."

"I needed to stop the Dementors! I didn't think…" He paused, realizing that he hadn't thought at all. Singehorn had warned him about fuelling his thirst for revenge with fire, that the power of the stone, imbued with love, should not be turned to hate. He had been deliberately tempted and had failed. Still, his ego would not let go. Knowing that he'd lost the argument before he started, Harry decided to press the point by raising his voice.

"It could have been worse!" he yelled. "I could have destroyed everything… everyone! I had it in my power!"

"You must be so proud," said Gabriella with disgust.

"I stopped myself. _ ME!_ I-I could have—"

"What's it like, Harry, knowing that you could cleanse the world of all its darkness? Just burn the face of the earth and start fresh. Would you be the new Noah? What ark would you have us build? Would it carry only those who worship you?"

"That's not fair! I'm not… I'm not _him_."

"Pravus? Or the Phantom, Voldemort?"

Gabriella walked past Harry to leave, but stopped just short of the curtain. For a moment her gaze held Harry's gash, her face grieved, but the moment was lost and the hardness returned.

"Long before our oath to the kin of Asha, has the House of Hayk watched over those of power. Yes, Harry, Hayk. It is my name as it was my mother's and her mother's before, as far back as the dust of this earth. Before Pravus, before Charlemagne, before Atilla, before Alexander, before Moses, have the women of my house watched what becomes of men graced with gifts such as yours." She reached out and touched Harry's face. His heart skipped and a sensation of love that he'd not felt for many weeks flared in his soul.

"It's not your fault, Harry," she whispered. "It's mine." Her eyes began to mist and a tear slipped down her cheek. "I've lost you. I'm sorry."

She turned and pushed through the curtain.

"You haven't lost me!" cried Harry, plunging through the curtain after her. The corridor was dark, her white cloak, in stark contrast to her surroundings, glowed in the dim light. Wiping at her face with her bare hands, she was walking toward the entrance of the caves. The corridors were deserted.

"Wait!" Harry yelled. He held up his hand and a wall of flame filled the corridor in front of Gabriella. She walked through it without hesitation. "I'm serious!" he yelled again. He pulled his wand. "I need to speak with you!"

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ Purple light left his wand and struck Gabriella squarely in the back, but the spell deflected off her as a ray of light striking a mirror. Undaunted, Harry yelled again, "I said stop!"

Ignoring the command, Gabriella, continued ahead, so Harry ran up and grabbed her by the arm. She spun at once, snapping the fingers in his hand and knocking his wand to the stone floor. His eyes flared red as he held out his arm toward her.

"_Stupefy!"_

Gabriella raised her arm as a shield. The spell struck the sleeve of her cloak, and again it was deflected without Gabriella saying a word, or lifting her wand. It returned back on its caster, striking Harry in the chest and tossing him backwards. The gash on his bosom ripped open and blood began to flow freely as he fell to the floor.

In an instant, his white shirt was soaked with blood. He summoned his wand and it flew back into his hand. Gabriella stood there, fear filling her eyes as she stared at Harry. What she was afraid of, he didn't know. Certainly she wasn't afraid of Harry. _She could just as easily crush me, if she wanted,_ he thought.

The splattering of blood onto the stone floor was amplified by the confined walls made of rock. The wound was flowing freely now. If it kept up like this, he would surely die. _ Is this how it was all to end? _His betrothed, fully capable of saving his life, would watch as his life ebbed away and disappeared into the ether. How could she despise him so for just wanting to help? The flickering need to show the world that he could save his friends, could save his son, flashed across his mind and in that instant an overwhelming need to cure himself by whatever means necessary became his singular focus.

"The stone," he whispered quietly to himself. His eyes narrowed and he smiled at Gabriella. He had won. He didn't need her help. He didn't need anybody's help.

"I don't need you!" he hissed, his thoughts blurring as more blood spilled out onto the floor. "I have the stone!" With a thought he summoned it into the palm of his hand. Covered in his blood, it was warm and sticky to the touch. He leaned his shoulder against the wall. Gabriella's expression was the same – frightened, but in control, as if she was watching a first class horror movie for the fifth time.

"Harry," she said sharply, her voice reminiscent of Molly Weasley scolding Fred or George, but with more caution, more concern, "you don't want to do this. You have a choice."

"Why can't you see?" he spat. "They need me!"

"Do you really believe it's about what _they_ need, Harry. Or is it about what _you_ need?"

"Are you mad?"

"It's been seven weeks! Seven weeks without their saviour, Harry Potter, and everyone at Hogwarts is fine. Cho and Jamie are hidden safely within the forest, Ron and Hermione are healed, and preparations are underway for the induction of a new Headmaster."

"Remus," Harry muttered.

"Not everything is what it seems, Harry," cautioned Gabriella. "Does the darkness approach? Yes. Is Snape possessed, gathering Death Eaters to his side? Yes. But no one's calling for a hero, Harry. You need to set your own affairs in order first. If you try to destroy this evil now on your own, to destroy because you can, you will have failed. Please, Harry, if you fall to the temptations of the stone, all will be lost."

"This?" Harry yelled, holding the stone high in his shaky hand. "This is all that stands between me and death. You know the prophecy! If I die, Voldemort wins! I won't let that happen!"

Even as Gabriella shook her head in disagreement, Harry held out the stone. Before she spoke again, he called out, _"Bravery, Wisdom, Love!"_

Even as his own words echoed in his mind, the familiar antechamber of white appeared before Harry, waiting for his command. What were, in this chamber, the possibilities? He had never really explored them before. While he had no corporeal self in this realm, he sensed a tingling at the tips of his fingers and he was suddenly disappointed that he had not explored all that he could do with the stone, that he had not explored its true powers, powers for him to control, to wield. But then the eagerness, perhaps even giddiness, with which he wished to use the stone, was tempered. Another voice crept into his mind. It was Gabriella speaking the incantation that she had inscribed on the base of the dragon statuette she had given him last year: "_Out of bravery, fire. Out of wisdom, blood. Out of love, true power_."

_Out of love…?_

For a moment, his mind was conflicted. From the distant recesses of memory came another voice that penetrated his thoughts, this time Molly Weasley's. Lifted from the page of a crumpled piece of parchment that even now was with him, tucked inside his pocket, came the words: _"You faced death but did not strike, and in so doing brought light to darkness, life to death." _

Swooning he yelled, _"HEAL!" _

The problem was he hadn't said a name. He wasn't sure why he didn't say, "Heal me!" or "Heal Harry Potter!" But, he hadn't. Without guidance, the stone presented options before him. Swirls of colour, mixes of black and white, virtuous alternatives and self-serving ones, each offering paths that Harry could take. All that was required was the thought and will to make it happen.

He was at the Ministry; did he want to heal his relationship with the great wizards of power? They would serve him well in his glory. He was over a battlefield secluded within some vast jungle; did he wish to heal the bodies littered upon the ground, crying out in agony? They would be forever grateful. He was at a bridge in a major city, dozens of cars flowing across it in each direction as its girders began to crack; should he seal the growing seams, not unlike the wounds upon his own chest? He would save countless lives. He was in a desert, the faces of sick children, begging for food. Should he heal the children or the parched earth? Nature and its creatures were in need. All over the world appeared the cries of dying men, women and children. And beyond that was the earth itself, calling him to come to its aid.

In this churning of choices the stone made no distinction, no judgement as to which Harry should select. That is… nearly. There was one distinction. Those alternatives that Harry felt as good and noble presented themselves in swirls of colour, while those he knew in his heart to be corrupt were a mist of black and white. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of images flashed before him, too many to endure. He was about to scream for it to stop when there at last appeared to Harry two quite distinct scenes.

The first was that of Sirius, on a red pad lying on blackened earth, a small patch of checkerboard it seemed. There was a Healer bending over him and at his side knelt, of all people, Professor McGonagall in dark blue robes. The healer whispered, "The bones are repaired, but the internal injuries are great. I don't understand why he's not healing properly. It appears that your plans and precautions may have been for naught. If this continues, I'm afraid—"

The scene changed to that of Harry, pale and slumped against the stone wall, blood dripping down his chest onto the floor. Gabriella stood motionless over him. But this last scene, in stark contrast to the one with Sirius, was in black and white. No colour filled the image. Gabriella's robe was radiant above all else, while the blood dripping from Harry's chest was black as darkest coal.

Trying to focus his will, he reissued the command, charging, "Heal…" And again he faltered. _Heal who? Heal what? Am I so much more important than all the rest? _

Pondering the countless possibilities, of which his own wound was only one, he realized that, even with the stone, he would be unable to mend the world of its woes. It was beyond him. To truly make a difference, he would need the help of others; he could not accomplish it all on his own and that included going to Hogwarts to save Jamie.

"_Out of love, true power__. Light to darkness."_

The words penetrated his mind, his soul. Perhaps Harry's earlier statements were true. He _was_ an ordinary wizard, no better and no worse than any other. He had been cursed and blessed and had led a life of wonder and woe as had all wizards, each in their own way. Take away these few trinkets and he was not so unique. Gabriella, her mother, or others of the Votary would find someone more worthy to wield them. Brought back to strength, Sirius would be able to enlist the help of others to fight back Voldemort, to protect Hogwarts in a way Harry felt was somehow entwined with his godfather's destiny.

_Prophecy be damned__!_ Harry would not take the first easy step down a path to serve his own needs, for each next step would be just that much more simple, explainable, justifiable. If he started down that path, he would never selflessly serve the needs of others again.

"Heal… Sirius," he whispered. "Heal the land that now lies cursed by my hand."

There was a swirl of colour about Sirius's castle, a breath of fresh, clean air, a flower reaching up through the crusted soil, and all flashed black. He was back in the cavern, a pool of blood about his feet, blood that did not stain the bottom of the white robes before him. By comparison, only a small patch upon the sleeve of his white shirt was unstained, a white that matched the colour of the skin protruding from it.

As all strength left him, the stone fell from Harry's hand and rolled across the floor. A hand, copper brown, reached down, clasped the stone and lifted it from the floor. Slumping against the stones, Harry's head tilted up to gaze upon the face of his love before he died. The dark black eyes glistened in the torchlight. She was smiling.

Harry gasped, and in so doing realized that there was no pain. He looked down at his chest. The skin was still bloody, but the wounds had vanished; he was healed.

"Since the passing of Asha," Gabriella whispered, choking back the tears, "only twice has a wizard held the stone within his hand and discovered its true power. You, my love, are the second."

Again, Harry took in another breath, trying to fathom it all, trying to understand what had just happened. "Is it over then? Are Sirius and the land about the castle healed?"

"The castle is still not complete, but all else is well. Help Sirius finish the castle and you will have but one task remaining," she replied. "It is, perhaps, your most difficult, but you owe it to her, to your son to tell the truth. If you can set right this last darkness upon your heart, then it will be over and your true quest shall begin."

With a waive of her wand, the blood vanished. Harry's shirt was white again, but he was still weak. It would take time to regain his strength. Gabriella reached down and lifted him from the floor. Slowly, the two made their way down to the healer's chamber. Neither said a word until Harry sat upon the edge of the bed. Finally, he looked up into her eyes again. There he found love, and faith in what he might become. That morning, she had dropped the ring at his feet, knowing that they were not bound by metal bands, but by something far more enduring. And now, he would return it to its rightful owner. His hand trembling, he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it out to her.

"I'm not… Pravus."

She took the ring from his hand and wrapped him in her arms, kissing his neck and holding him tight. He could feel warmth returning to his heart, strength to his bones. Energy radiated from her body and passed to his as she wept softly.

"I'll do it," he whispered in her ear. "But before I return to Sirius, before I go to Hogwarts, I need to—"

"You seek the cloak… Voldemort's cloak," she snapped, abruptly pulling away. He expected to see anger, but instead a sly smile danced across her glimmering eyes.

"You… you knew?" he asked. He'd only mentioned the cloak to one person, Antreas, whom he'd asked to conceal it in the dragon's rookery. Antreas had sworn not to tell Dakhil, but not his—

"Knew?" she interrupted. "Harry, I'm wearing it."


	36. The Quality of Mercy

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 3****6 – The Quality of Mercy**

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A/N: In this chapter, rather than having direct breaks in the POV, I've decided to transition from one POV to the other. I imagine myself something like Rita Skeeter, buzzing from one person to another. Please let me know if it's impossible to follow. In this chapter, we start and end with Cho.

* * *

How long had it been? It felt a lifetime ago. She was not the same woman when last she walked these streets. The flashes of red and white in the storefront windows, hearts and cupids hailing the coming of Valentine's, brought back a sudden torrent of memories. Three years were lived in the blink of an eye and a tear spilt down her cheek onto the frosty earth.

Would everything and everyone she touched turn to dust? Cedric, Anthony and now Harry… His wounds… poisoned with vampire venom, they were still bleeding when she and Tonks disapparated. Cho had read about such wounds and knew that he would not get better, but rather grow progressively worse until he was either turned, or… or… she pulled in a deep, shuddering breath and looked over to Tonks.

"What now?" she asked, wondering why she had left her son's father in the first place.

They had apparated twice to arrive at Hogsmeade. The trip was simple, uneventful. She had expected more, but there was no more, only the pounding of her nervous heart and a sleeping child that knew no better. Past midnight, the streets of Hogsmeade were quiet. The moonless night sky was sprinkled with stars and the bright comet, Harry spoke so often of, flared low on the horizon near the planet Mars, which was as red and bright as ever. The only real excitement was that Jamie would begin to fuss after each apparation. If there had been someone watching, their position would have been given away immediately. Now, however, he was peaceful. He squirmed, made a little yawning squeak and fell back to sleep.

"_Shhhh!" _said Tonks softly, holding one hand to her lips and extending her arm and pressing her other hand against Cho's chest, guiding her to slowly step backwards until their backs were against the wall of Zonko's. From here they could see fairly clearly down to the post office and beyond that to the windows of the Weasley's shop. Its windows were brightly lit and, within, something was flying about… _a white cupid?_ Cho couldn't tell.

Tonks was intently staring at something down the street. She was clearly agitated and pulled on the cloth of Cho's robes, silently asking her to follow. She slid across the wall to the side of Zonko's so that they were out of sight of the street. After they both made it about the corner, Tonks relaxed a bit, letting out a long, soft breath.

"It's too quiet," she whispered as the two looked out at the great lake. "I don't like it." Cho began to slip her wand away, but Tonks shook her head. "Keep it ready." She took Cho by the arm and led her a little way from the building. She pointed out across the train tracks, some fifty meters ahead, toward the lake twice again the distance beyond the tracks. "See that cluster of trees? We go there. We don't dare try apparation. We can't afford Jamie crying again. If they're watching, they'll be watching up near the station and they'd hear him for sure. Beyond the cluster of trees will be the boats. We'll take one toward the castle, turn north and make our way to the forest."

"But—"

"The road's too dangerous and we don't have the time to hike around."

They had taken one step, maybe two, when the sound of laughter somersaulted down the main street. Two men had just left the Hog's Head and were coming their way.

"I tell yeh, there's no finer brew in all of Britain," declared one blissfully.

"One more and you'd be on yer arse! Yeh've gotcher orders. Keep an eye!"

"I don't see no Dark Lord about, nor have I yet. All we have is a boxful of Malfoy's lies and yeh heard what Dinkins said… the man's dead."

"Aye, but he also said that the Malfoy boy killed Potter and then ate his liver."

The drunk Death Eater began to laugh, slapping his legs with the flats of his hands. "As if!" he cried.

"True or not," said the one Death Eater, trying to straighten his drunken friend. "If the boy's father is dead, yeh'd best show some respect teh the lad."

"I'd sooner show respect to a pock ridden hag!" snapped the drunk. They were slowing, positioning themselves near the bend in the cobblestone road through town so that they could better see down both directions of Main Street. It was nearly the same spot Cho and Tonks had apparated to not five minutes before.

The drunk pulled his wand. "Malfoy, or not, he's a filthy vampire! I don't give a damn how much coin he has in his pocket, he'll see no respect from me."

Across the street, toward the back of the post office, Cho thought she saw, if for only an instant, a bright orange glow, a small ember blazing against the night that disappeared in a puff of smoke. Tonks must have seen it too, because she decided that it was safer to start moving, slowly, toward their objective – the boats.

They'd taken only two steps when there was a whisper and the quiet night erupted in a flash of green. From the post office a bolt of green lightning… the killing curse… shot across the street and struck the drunk Death Eater dead. He crumpled to ground without so much as a sigh.

"Run!" cried Tonks in a hushed voice.

The Death Eater's partner, oblivious to the two witches, returned fire on his attacker – stunning spell after stunning spell lit up the side of the post office in flaming red, but there was nothing there, nothing but a lingering puff of smoke. Cho turned toward the lake and began to run.

They were nearly to the tracks when Cho heard two large snaps. She froze. Two wizards, in dark robes, had apparated to their left. They were up near the station and had a clear view of the two witches. Only, when the wizards heard the wand fire up the street, their attention was diverted and they began to run toward the commotion. Soon, the buildings of Hogsmeade were shielding their escape and Cho began to run again. She could hear the wizards shouting at each other in the distance.

"Move!" hissed Tonks again. Her voice was more urgent than ever.

There was yelling, arguing, and then quiet. Only their footsteps crunching across the frosty earth made a sound. When she crossed the tracks, Cho slipped and Jamie gave a little complaint. Not so much a cry as a yowl. He settled quickly, but the sound was enough.

"There!" cried one of the Death Eaters.

Sprays of multi-coloured wand fire flew over their heads. There was no point in trying to keep hidden.

"Apparate!" called Tonks. "To the boats."

Cho held her wand high and focussed her vision, but something was blocking it. She tried again… nothing. "There's an anti-apparation charm!" she called back, starting to run once more toward the lake.

"That's not possible," said Tonks, deep puffs of billowing smoke escaping from her lungs as she too jumped the tracks. "Unless—"

A stunning spell glanced off Tonks' shoulder, dropping her to the ground as she screamed out in pain.

"Tonks!" yelled Cho, turning back to help her friend.

"Run!" returned Tonks, turning about onto her back and returning fire from the ground. "I'll hold them off as long as I can!"

"No! I won't—"

"You must protect the boy! That's what they want. Now RUN!"

Cho had almost forgotten that she was now speaking for two. For a moment, she'd lost herself, but then a rush of motherly instincts flooded her emotions and she turned and ran toward the boats.

The cluster of trees was still dusted with a fine powder of frosty snow. The white reflected the colours streaking across the sky from behind in a panoply that would have, at any other time, been beautiful. As she passed beneath the boughs, sprinkles of snow fell down onto Jamie's face and he began to cry.

The trees, here near the lake, were dense, and Cho had to weave her way through the brambles. For a moment she stopped to take one last look back and the vision lifted her heart. Others from the town had entered the fray and Tonks was now not the only wizard fighting the Death Eaters.

"Thank Merlin," she whispered, and moved deeper into the trees that enveloped her, hiding her from Hogsmeade. For a moment, she stopped to gather herself. She checked on Jamie who was now awake, but seemingly curious about the white branches above his head. He kept pointing his finger, smiling at the branches, or maybe at something beyond.

"Time for a boat ride, little one," she said softly, dusting a bit of snow from his face with the back of her hand. The thunder of spells from the nearby town was growing louder. Quickly, she checked that Jamie was secure in his pack, put him on her back and broke through onto the shore of the lake.

The water was still, frozen in spots, but easily passable by the small boats that were just a ways up shore, moored at the Hogsmeade dock. As she moved up the shore she noticed the different coloured boats, each one representing the four houses of Hogwarts. _Why had she never noticed before?_ She remembered Hagrid taking her across as a first year. That was a wonderful time… a time before trolls, before basilisks, before Dementors, before dragons and death, before… Harry.

Her heart shuddered at the thought and she cursed herself for letting her mind spill into a sinkhole of pity. "You'd be dead if it weren't for Harry," she whispered to herself. "And there wouldn't be…" her hand reached back and touched the foot of their son, "…love."

She had reached the dock in silence. Clearly the wandfire had pulled anyone and everyone to the town. Now was their chance to slip away. She came up the dock and made her way to one of the boats, pulled off the heavy burlap cover and untied one of its two ropes. She made sure there were oars and then proceeded to untie the second rope. She had just loosened the knot when a voice startled her.

"Going somewhere?"

She spun, wand at the ready. Leaning against the boathouse, smoking a cigarette, was Draco Malfoy. He took a long drag from the fag, tossed it into the air and vanished it. Then, he let out the smoke into a continuously expanding plume. He was dressed completely in black, but his face and hair were as white as the snow and against the moss covered boathouse they shown as a moon in the darkness with two grey eyes filled with hate. Seeing his smirk, rage began to fill Cho's heart for what Malfoy had done to her husband Anthony and to Harry.

"YOU!" she spat, standing tall. Malfoy took but one step forward and Cho, choosing not to enjoin his conversation, cast a stunning spell. He deflected it, but did not return fire.

"Did you think you could kill my father and I would do nothing?" he asked, stepping down the dock toward her. She cast a slashing spell and again he deflected it, only this time with some difficulty. That irritated him.

"If you didn't have the child on your back, you'd be dead where you stand."

Silently, Cho slipped the pack off her back and set Jamie gently down into the boat. She turned and faced Malfoy. They were some twenty paces away, each standing tall in the darkness.

"You don't think I can handle the likes of you?" said Cho with steeled determination. "You'll have no excuses on my account, murderer." She stepped closer. "It was you in the shadows, wasn't it? Killing your own?"

Malfoy drew nearer still; each ensuring the next spell would strike true. His face was contorted, his eyes unblinking.

"You're here now, aren't you? Why do you think that is? Can't you hear the battle raging as we speak? But you and me… we're here all alone… just the two of us."

"I don't know what you've done to yourself, Malfoy, but I know what you did to Harry and what you… you did to Anthony." She tried not to show her sorrow, but it spilt out anyway. Then, pulling her emotions together and focussing her anger on Malfoy, she snapped through gritted teeth. "You and your pathetic excuse for a father."

The lips about Malfoy's fangs curled. A sneer and then a smirk. "What I did to Harry? I saved his life!" he yelled. "And I saved yours!" For a moment, Cho actually thought that Malfoy believed his own words. "And as for your pathetic excuse for a husband… no Malfoy had a hand in his pyre."

Cho's eyes narrowed.

"What? You don't believe me? Look in my eyes." He stepped closer still and she could see truth lingering in the grey pools that were rimmed in red.

"My dearest Cho, you'll have to look much closer to home to know who fried Goldstein. But then, he wasn't much of a father, was he, letting himself get killed by his own. Tell me… I know he gave you a child and all, but was he really much of a husband? You know, where it matters?"

A flash of red skimmed past Malfoy's head.

"Oh, you want to play, don't you? That might be fun. I can almost taste you from here."

A bolt of green flashed from Cho's wand, but Malfoy disapparated and reappeared behind her, between Cho and her child. He bent down near the boat, too close for Cho to risk another spell.

"Oh my… tsk… tsk… A bit careless for a new mother, I'd say." He chuckled. "I guess you can blame the anti-apparation charm on me." Red erupted from his wand and struck Cho in the chest, even as she tried to deflect the spell. She flew backward onto the dock, dazed, but still conscious. "I'll kill _you_ soon enough! But first… perhaps a little Goldstein appetizer." He reached down and stroked Jamie's head.

"Get your hands off him you filth!" cried Cho, casting another killing curse, but this one deliberately high. "I'll kill you. I swear!"

Malfoy lifted Jamie out of the pack and pulled him close, his fangs glistening in the starlight.

"NO!" Cho began to stumble toward him, but another spell from Malfoy locked her legs.

Anger, hatred, vengeance filled the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy as he prepared to destroy the child of the woman who had killed his father. It had been a long time since he had tasted human flesh. He bared his teeth and, as Cho screamed for him to stop, pleaded for his mercy, he… stopped. He moved Jamie so that he and the child were face to face.

"Green eyes?" As if he'd just touched a spider, he dropped Jamie to the decking and backed away, his hands trembling. As the child screemed, so to did Malfoy. "Green eyes!" Then he spun on Cho. "You bitch! How did you convince him? What treachery…. Do you know what this means? No wonder he wants the child! It's… it's… you bitch!"

He raised his wand over Cho.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ he cried. A blast of green issued forth, for an instant Malfoy's vision failed him, all was dark. He blinked. Cho was gone. The night was still. He spun. The child, Harry's child, was gone. The lake was still, as the small boat, still holding Cho's pack, rocked back and forth in the twinkling night. Draco, confused, stepped over to the boat and reached for the pack. Suddenly, something grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off his feet.

Gasping for air, he wrenched himself around and saw a giant creature looming before him. It had golden brown fur with black dots that speckled its head and ran down its back to where they converged into great, black, bat-like wings that shadowed the night sky behind. Its eyes were yellow, glowing in the dim light. Its ears were also bat-like, and its face wolfen with long rows of teeth. It gave a great, gravely growl, revealing two particularly long canines in front. Malfoy knew, somehow, that this creature was, like himself, a vampire, great of power, filled with strength, and ready to kill given the slightest provocation. But the eyes, the eyes were not wild, but knowing… sinister, but filled with wisdom beyond Draco's comprehension. In a heartbeat they were above the trees. Below, were a number of wizards, many in ministerial robes, battling in the streets of Hogsmeade. More Death Eaters had apparated in. Near the tracks, Malfoy could see Remus Lupin standing next to the prone body of Tonks. In town, George Weasley, or perhaps Fred, had stepped out from his shop and was blasting down Death Eaters as easily as if he were swatting flies.

It was so dark most normal eyes would have missed it, but from behind the station Malfoy saw a Death Eater moving in on Remus who was fighting two others closer to town. Malfoy tried to point, but wasn't able to speak. The creature had been holding him with both hands, but shifted him into one hand, squeezing his neck all the more. The dark-cloaked wizard below raised his arm to strike Remus.

Somehow, the scene changed. They were no longer high above the battle, but were directly above the wizard. Malfoy saw a wand in his captor's hand. _A wizard?_ There was a silent flash of light, and the Death Eater's head fell to the earth, his body, seemingly surprised, crumpled shortly after.

Watching the scene, the circulation of blood being cut off from his mind, Malfoy wasn't sure if he was happy or not. He blinked and they were at Remus' side.

"They are safe Remus," growled the creature, again in a deep, gravelled voice. Malfoy was sure it wasn't human speech and yet, somehow, he understood. So, too, did Remus.

Without concern, Remus turned away from the fight to look at the vampire next to him.

"Are you sure, Dakhil?" he asked. Dakhil simply growled.

"Of course. I'm sorry." Remus turned and cast a hasty stunning spell which, nonetheless, struck true. "Then we stay with the plan. Here once more, on the night of the third moon, and we don't let Harry—" Remus suddenly realized that Dakhil had in his grasp, Draco Malfoy. It looked as if Dakhil were holding a dead chicken, or at least a dying one, by the neck.

"Dakhil!" exclaimed Remus. "You'll kill him!"

Dakhil began to laugh a cavernous, throaty laugh. "Doesn't he deserve it?"

"No!" said Remus. "It is not for us to determine that destiny, if it can be helped."

"Well," replied Dakhil, "not to worry, my friend. The boy's a vampire. It will take much more than lack of oxygen to kill him now. Still, I'm told Harry has an interest in the lad and, just now, he warned me of a Death Eater about to strike you down." Remus spun and saw the decapitated foe toward the station. "And now _you_ say he shouldn't die. Perhaps he has some other role to play."

With a great _woosh_ Dakhil spread his wings and was gone, Malfoy dangling like a rag doll at his side. Remus watched as they disappeared into the night sky. When his eyes returned to Hogsmeade, the sound of cheers filled the air. There had been a half-dozen Death Eaters hiding in town and another twenty or so had come to join them. All were now defeated, many dead, many wrapped in ropes. Remus knew that it was only one battle and their only chance to win the war would be some weeks to come. While members of the Ministry moved in on their captives, George came running over to Remus.

"You alright, mate?" he called. Remus noticed that there was a smell of smoke about George and then he realized why – the boy's left side had been burned, his hair singed and his clothes blackened.

"Me? What about you?" He pointed at George's burns.

"Yeah, well, I think I got the worst of anybody. I was the only one stupid enough to be hit."

"The only one brave enough to stick their neck out, you mean. I saw what you did when they were about to take out Old Man Dinkens."

George only shrugged.

"Here. Take Tonks' hand," directed Remus. "She's been hurt, I'm not sure how bad, and I want you both to the hospital."

"But—"

"Do it!"

George obliged. Remus lifted a small candle from his pocket. "Now take my hand." Again George took hold. Remus kneaded the candle's wick between thumb and forefinger until the waxy coating rubbed away and there was naught but wick. The Portkey worked, and flung them back to the hospital ward at Hogwarts. He had expected to find Madam Pomfrey at the ready, but instead, standing in front of them was Madame Guérir, tears streaming down her eyes.

Beds lined both sides of the long walls of the ward. At the bed nearest Remus was Professor McGonagall, her face blistered and red. At the far end was Madam Pomfrey. She was weeping as she tended to two other patients – Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Hermione was badly bruised, but sleeping. Ron was pale, almost ghostlike.

"Ron?" called George, realizing that his brother was in the room. He walked quickly to Madam Pomfrey's side. Remus turned to the nurse before him.

"What happened, Madame Guérir?" he asked.

"Some nastiness in Professor McGonagall's office, I'm afraid."

"Here. Help me with Tonks." Remus lifted the unconscious Tonks up onto one of the beds.

"Is Minerva going to be okay?" he asked, but Madame Guérir, unable to speak for grief, only nodded back a reply, working hard to keep herself from crying. Holding one hand across her face, she continued to examine Tonks. The Auror's shoulder was bleeding and there was a large bruise on her head. Madame Guérir pulled her wand and did a quick scan and then sealed the open wound.

"She'll… She'll be fine, Headmaster," she said, sniffing. "Nothing a good night's rest and a spell or two won't cure."

"Headmaster?" Remus chuckled. "Just Professor, Juliette," he said with a smile. "Just Professor."

Madame Guérir lifted her eyes toward Remus. Another tear fell. "Professor Dumbledore is dead, sir. I was told…" Her eyes floated over to the bed where Professor McGonagall lay. "I was told that you were to be the Headmaster, at least for a while."

"Dead?" Remus choked in disbelief and yet part of him knew, had known before he was sent to save Harry, Cho and their child. Cho and Jamie were safe, but there was no Harry. Tonks had told him he was injured, was unable to travel. The night had gone poorly, save for the fact that Cho and her child were safe. "When did it happen, Juliette?" he asked.

"Tonight, sir. They say the Headmaster saved the young Weasley boy there. Gave his own to save another. I always knew that's how it'd be… I always knew. No deathbed for Albus Dumbledore." For a moment, her eyes shown bright and she smiled. She took in a short breath and returned to healing Tonks.

"And the others?" asked Remus. "How are the others?"

"Oh, terrible… terrible…" She clucked her tongue. "The villain had control of the boy and that… well, we know what it did to young Mr. Chang. And the young Ms. Granger… she suffered a terrible beating… at the hands of her own fiancée no less. Can you imagine?" Then Madame Guérir turned to Remus and whispered, "And there's a deeper damage, sir, but Madam Pomfrey won't speak of it and she won't let me near the girl."

A quiet laughter came from the other end of the ward. Ron was awake, his brother, George, smiling down on him, only Ron's face was not jovial at all. It was weary and distant. Madam Pomfrey shuffled George over to yet another bed and the nurse began to work her wand along the side of his burned body.

"And Harry?" asked Ron. "Did you see Harry?"

"No, little brother."

Remus left Madame Guérir and moved down the ward. "Harry was injured in Greece," Remus said to Ron. "It may be some time until he's well enough to travel."

"Who? How?" asked Ron, turning toward the new, temporary Headmaster.

"There'll be time for questions and answers later, Mr. Weasley. For now it's best that you—"

There was a groan. Hermione was stirring. Ron suddenly realized that she was in the bed next to his. All the horror that had just happened in the last hours dropped into his mind like a bad dream. He rose and, hesitantly, went to her bedside.

"Hermione," he whispered. Madam Pomfrey, who had been treating George, turned to see Ron at Hermione's side.

"Mr. Weasley, you mustn't—"

"Hermione… it's me, Ron."

Madam Pomfrey began to move quickly, but she wasn't quick enough.

"Ron?" Hermione muttered. She opened her eyes to see Ron, smiling down on her. She began to scream.

"STAY AWAY!" she cried, raising her arm and flailing them wildly at Ron. "GET BACK!" Suddenly, Ron, Madam Pomfrey and Remus were all flung backwards against the wall. Instruments and potions came crashing to the floor. "STAY AWAY!" Hermione, her eyes wild with fear, grabbed her sheets for protection and crawled out of bed, scrambling away from them.

Ron rose to his feet. "Hermione, it's _me,_ R—"

"_DON'T TOUCH ME!"  
_

Without a word the bed rose into the air and hurled itself at Ron, smashing him into the wall. There was flash of yellow and Hermione fell, unconscious to the floor. Madame Guérir had cast the spell, and quickly hurried over to lift Hermione back onto another bed. Remus went and pulled the debris off of Ron, who rose to his knees looking dazed as to what had just happened. There was a nasty gash high across his right cheek that ran from the corner of his eye to just below his ear. Madam Pomfrey knelt down to seal it, but Ron pushed her away.

"Leave it alone!" he snapped. "I don't care what it looks like. I… I deserve it." George helped him to his feet.

"Let's get you back in bed, little brother."

"No," answered Ron with a forlorn voice. "Take me home. I've failed her. I don't want her to see my face again. Not after what I've—"

"Ron," interrupted Remus, "you mustn't think that it was your fault."

"No? I was there Professor!" yelled Ron. "If not me, who was the one that… that—"

"Voldemort!" snapped Remus. "What? Do you think that you should somehow be more powerful? There are dozens of wizards, far older and far more experienced than you Mr. Weasley, that have fallen victim to Voldemort. You weren't the first wizard to be bent by his will and you weren't the last. Already he's taken another."

"Snape," whispered Ron, remembering Snape's offer to be taken over freely. "How could he?"

"That is something for us to discuss later, which is why I need you to stay at Hogwarts. For now, I think it best if you and your brother get some rest." He turned to Madam Pomfrey. "Poppy, can you take them to the other ward?"

"Certainly, Professor," she said softly. She took Ron by the arm, half an eye toward the blood dripping down his face.

"Don't even think about it," Ron warned.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, as they made their way to the double doors. "All you need is a little patience and a little time. You'll see. Some say that time alone heals all wounds, but, sometimes, it takes a wee bit more. For now, my child, let us work with what we have – time. The rest can come later."

And in fact, for a while at least, time was a commodity to be had at Hogwarts. Remus had thought that, once Dumbledore's death was announced, Voldemort would move immediately upon the castle, but such was not the case. Perhaps it was the defeat that the Death Eaters had suffered in Hogsmeade, maybe it was Snape exerting what will he could, but all had been quiet. Perhaps the plan was working after all.

Days turned to weeks and the weather began to warm, hailing the arrival of spring. Though the Headmaster had passed, April came to Hogwarts as it had every year. The buds of the trees were burgeoning and the birds had returned to the castle grounds, calling beautiful songs in hopes of finding new mates. But not all was well at Hogwarts. Ron had elected to stay, but he was unable to go near Hermione, not out of anger, but rather out of guilt for what he'd done to her. Hermione did not complain. In the days that followed her release from the hospital, she seemed more timid, more jumpy than ever, never offering to answer questions in class, and refusing to point attention to herself in any way.

The news discussed about town and in the Daily Prophet was not much better. There was word of a rising mist in the dales outside Glasgow and moving north toward Hogsmeade and the environs. Edinburgh had suffered a tremendous earthquake, or so the Muggle papers reported it. According to the Ministry, nearly a dozen giants had crossed the sea and landed on Edinburgh's shore. They were, even now, making there way toward Hogwarts. Hagrid had gone on to discover their purpose.

While the darkness slowly pressed in on Hogwarts, Cho Chang was hidden deep within the Forbidden Forest. The Centaurs had prepared for both her and her child a small, but secure stronghold near the top of the magical falls at the heart of the forest. Only a handful of Centaurs knew where it was; one of them was Macleta who was charged for caring for the two, while Ronan ensured their safety. Cho was kept at the Centaur village of Terntalag and would be moved when the time was right. She thought is would come sooner, but armies take time to assemble and Voldemort was making sure he would have the upper hand.

As Cho watched the season change to spring before her eyes, she listened to the Centaurs talk in riddles about the stars and about the coming darkness. The last few weeks had been quiet and restful, but over the last few days she had noted a tension in their words, the slightest of lilts that hadn't been there earlier. Something was about to happen, something bad.

On this night, as the stars began to take hold of the darkening sky, Cho curled Jamie in her arms next to the warmth of the fire. She sat with Macleta outside the walls of the Terntalag, as they often did, to take in the beauty of the world about them and to draw from nature's energy. Tonight, however, Jamie was tense, unwilling to sleep, his green eyes searching for something in the dark, just beyond the light, flickering against the trees. Ronan and the other Centaurs were out on patrol and Cho, while confident in their skills to protect her child, was ever watchful.

The aroma of the burning wood was calming. The crackling of the embers and the forest's song of night was soothing. She drew on the world about her and tried to wrap that energy around her son. Slowly, she began to rock, back and forth, humming a tune she knew as a child – a lullaby her mother had sung when Voldemort was on the rise in Britain. Soon the tune broke out into soft, soothing song.

Hush my darling little one.  
Rest your head tonight.  
Dream of laughter; dream of fun.  
Dream about the light

Comes the tiger to the gate,  
searching to get in.  
Hold my fingers, while we wait.  
Watch the darkness thin.

_Light will soon shine down on us – the birth of a new day.  
__Let the warmth of mama's arms chase your fears away._

Should you find yourself at night  
as the tiger nears,  
know my spirit wraps you tight,  
holding back your tears.

Matters not the tiger be,  
though he break the gate.  
All our love we give to thee –  
strength to strike that fate.

_Fire will burn the tiger's tail – flame the dark away,  
__bringing morning's gentle song – the birth of a new day._

Hush my darling little one.  
Rest your head tonight.  
Dream of laughter; dream of fun.  
Dream about the light.

On the second singing, Jamie drifted off to sleep and Cho laid him gently on a bundle of blankets. There was a snap of a twig in the trees just in front of her. Ordinarily, she would have thought nothing of it, but when she turned to check on Macleta, she realized the Centaur wasn't there. _How was it possible?_ _The Centaur had never left their side._ She reached for her wand and stood, facing whatever might have caused the sound beyond the light of the fire. There was another snap, clearly a footstep.

"Come out!" Cho commanded. "Show yourself!"

A wizard emerged, dressed in dark blue robes. How long he'd been standing there, she didn't know. As he stepped into the light of the fire, she saw by its golden light that his face was wet with tears.

"Harry?"


	37. Alliances

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 3****7 – Alliances**

It was dark, too dark for normal eyes, but Dakhil Barghouti could see as clearly as if the sun were streaming through the dusty windows. It was the first month of the New Year, and he was not feeling very hopeful after observing the fighting that had just taken place in Hogsmeade. With Dumbledore gone, things were certainly going to change. Still, Remus held his own, a good thing, but the girl had nearly been lost. Holding a heavy burden, he sighed, thankful to be home. Outside, the snow was falling and a blustery wind shook the shingles of the roof, rattling the whole of his home. "They'll wait for the weather to warm," he muttered to himself. "Our timing will need to be perfect."

Dropping his bound package with a heavy thud onto the couch, he stepped over to the hearth and lit the fire with a flick of his wand. There was a shudder of shock that rattled behind him. It was no shingle, but the cringing fear of a newborn vampire – newborn by Barghouti's standards. He turned to consider the blonde youth seated, or rather bound on the couch.

"You'll have to learn to control your fear of fire," he said impassively, now walking over to the stove to heat some soup. He despised using magic to prepare food, it never tasted right, and he wondered if Draco had yet been properly fed since his turning.

"I'm not afraid!" spat Draco, his voice cracking from the swelling in his neck caused by Dakhil's chokehold. "Release these bonds and I'll show you!"

Dakhil did not respond until the pot on the stove began to simmer. He added another sprig of rosemary and then walked to the fire, rubbing his hands. He reached over and grabbed the poker, adjusting the logs by hand and then, as if spearing a marshmallow, he skewered the log and pulled it out of the fire. There was no grunt of effort, no shaking of his hand as he held the burning log aloft. Brining the burning log toward Draco's face, the cottage began to fill with smoke. Draco tried to shrink away, but his bonds held him tight.

"I see fear in your eyes, boy," he said smoothly. He muttered a foreign phrase and the bonds fell away and vanished. Draco immediately scrambled back up and over the couch. Dakhil began to laugh and tossed the log back into the fire. With a wave of his wand the smoke vanished.

"It is clear you understand some things, youngling. There are few ways you can die. Fire, of course, is one of them. It will scar you and pain you and, if left unchecked, consume you utterly. Still, it is a tool to be used like any other. It has its place in the world as do we."

"I'm not one of you!" snapped Draco defiantly, his eyes casting about fervently for some chance for escape. Again, Dakhil did not respond. Instead, he moved toward the stove and began to stir again.

"Still, I suspect you're hungry. It has been some time since you have… fed."

"I… I don't eat."

"Don't be ridiculous! Of course you eat." Dakhil pulled down two bowls from a shelf and set them at a small wooden dining table. "Come. Sit."

Draco, who had been sliding his way toward the front door, quickly turned and tried to pull it open, but the door held fast.

"Not a very gracious guest."

"If I had my wand, I'd—"

"You'd what!" growled Dakhil, and this time the house rumbled with the thunder in his voice. He pulled in a breath and slid a chair out from the table. "Sit." Draco, reluctantly, obliged.

"I told you, I can't."

Dakhil pulled the pot over and placed it in the centre of the table. "Tell me, boy, have you had no training at all? You were turned purposefully, were you not? Who was your mentor?" Draco simply looked away. "I see."

Lifting up a bowl, Dakhil ladled in a thick ruddy broth. "Taste this, and then tell me that you don't eat." Draco rolled his eyes. Dakhil handed him a spoon. "Go on. I know you're famished."

Draco rolled the spoon in his fingers. "This is stupid. I haven't eaten _normal_ food since—"

"Taste!"

Draco stabbed at the broth and brought the empty, but coated spoon up to his mouth. "There! Are you…" The flavours began to wrap themselves about his tongue. He paused a moment and then he dipped the spoon into the broth and tasted it properly. His head snapped up to look into Dakhil's smiling eyes. "What is it?" asked Draco.

"You know what it is," replied Dakhil. "Well, perhaps you don't. It's pheasant, with a few spices and a dash of red wine."

"Pheasant?" asked Draco incredulously.

"There are many ways to consume blood. While fresh certainly has its own panache, one must learn to try more civilized approaches. If you behave as a proper guest and eat, I'm sure you'll find they both have the same end result – a satisfied belly."

Draco didn't ask another question. He began to spoon the broth in, then quickly held the bowl up to his mouth and drank it down. Dakhil allowed him to do this but once. When Draco asked for more he had to promise that he'd mind his manners. By the third bowl, a bit of colour entered Draco's cheeks and the pangs of hunger had been satiated. Once again his eyes darted about the small cottage, but this time they were more curious than fretful. There was something calming about the soup.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"This is my home," replied Dakhil, walking his empty bowl to the cupboard. He uttered an incantation and the bowl was cleansed. He placed it on its shelf. "Are you finished?"

Draco looked at his bowl and, for a moment, considered pulling it up to his lips to finish it off, but stayed his hands. "Erm…"

"Take your time. We're in no hurry here, I assure you."

There was something in his tone that was reassuring, soothing and, for the first time in a long time, Draco relaxed. He finished the bowl and had enough manners to clean it himself and place it back in the cupboard. Satiated and a bit drowsy he walked to the window and looked out. There was a thick layer of snow on the ground and he could just make out the lights of another cottage or two some fifty feet away.

"Are we in Scotland? I didn't know you lived in Britain," Draco said, watching the snow fall.

"I don't. We're in northern Slovakia." Draco spun.

"That's not possible!" he exclaimed. "We… you Apparated, pulling me along with you. No wizard could—"

"No. No _wizard_ could," interrupted Dakhil. "But I… _we_ are vampires, boy. Surely you know that…" Dakhil stopped himself. He conjured a cigar out of thin air, shaking his head. He was about to light it, but then offered it to Draco. "Do you smoke?" A thin smile crossed Draco's lips and he reached out and accepted the offer.

There was a pause and then Draco said, "Thank you."

"Well," said Dakhil, conjuring another cigar. "There you have it." He lit them both with a flash of fire from his wand and this time Draco did not flinch. "I knew there was something about you worth keeping alive." He sat at the couch and watched the fire, blowing thick rings of smoke in the air. Draco paced for a moment, puffing on his own cigar, but then finally sat down as well next to the fire.

There was a long period of silence and, if not for the cigar in his hand, Draco might have slipped off to sleep. He looked about the small cottage with its run down appearance and rickety furnishings.

"Surely," he began, "with the powers at your disposal, you could do better than this."

"I have what I need," answered Dakhil, still staring at the fire. "Would you prefer a maidservant, rubbing your feet?"

"No," answered Draco. And, in fact, he felt more _at home_ here than he did in his parent's mansion. He swallowed. His neck was still sore from where Dakhil had choked him not six hours before, but the tenderness about his larynx was fading. "You know, you needn't have choked me to death."

Dakhil vanished his cigar and turned to face Draco. "Tell me, boy. I know you would have killed the girl. What about the child?"

Draco let out a puff of smoke and then considered the cigar in his hand, hoping perhaps that it might lend him an answer to Dakhil's question. Finally he said impassively, "She killed my father."

"And you loved your father?"

"She had no right!"

"And you did."

"I… I wasn't me. I wanted…" Draco's fingers tightened about the cigar and it crumbled in his hand. "Yes! Alright? Are you happy? I would have drained them… drained them both!"

"Well," said Dakhil rising off the couch, "you don't want to feast on flesh that has been struck down by the killing curse. That, I can assure you." His face wrinkled and his tongue thrust out in a sign of distaste. "So… you are a murderer. I wonder what Potter sees in you."

"Potter can go to hell!" cried Draco, unexpectedly irritated.

"Yes. I've heard him say the same of you. Curious. Perhaps you'll both go together. One can always hope."

Draco wasn't sure if Dakhil was being serious or sarcastic.

"Still, there is some bond between you two."

"The only bond we have is a common hatred of Voldemort." At this Dakhil turned back toward Draco and moved in close so that their eyes met and they could smell the smoke on each other.

"Draco, your grief… your hatred… they cloud your vision. You know little of whom you are and perhaps less of who you were. There is time, however, if you wish to take it, to discover who you will be." Dakhil waved his wand and was suddenly wearing bedclothes. There was a click on the far wall. "The door is open. Leave and, I fear, you will be lost forever. Stay and I will help you find your way. The choice is yours." From his sleeve he pulled a wand, Draco's wand, and laid it on the dining table.

There was whirl and Dakhil vanished, sinking into the floor below. Draco watched him as he disappeared. He grabbed his wand and briskly walked to the door and opened it. The snow had stopped falling and he could now clearly see the cottages that lined the street. Blankets of white made the buildings look like candy cottages, or iced gingerbread houses. The air was silent and still. He reached down and scooped up a handful of ice. Dakhil was right, he was free to go, but where? He was about to step out, but then stopped.

He threw the snowball across the street, falling short of the nearest house, stepped inside and closed the door. Shivering slightly, he walked over and warmed his hands by the fire. He would sleep well tonight and leave the rest for tomorrow.

* * *

Gabriella smiled as Harry looked at her blankly. She expected surprise and was well rewarded. Things were going far better than she had hoped. She had known that he would strike at her – a vision that had haunted her since he first fell ill from Draco's venom. That he would travel to the mountains to retrieve the cloak, well, that had been only a guess, but one that she was trained to understand. The Horcrux now wrapped about her was a powerful tool and, ultimately, they all fell victim to the lure of power. 

An hour ago, she had wished that she'd never fallen in love with the man now before her. At first she thought, perhaps, it was the winter's cold, turning her heart, but she knew better. He was being consumed by hatred and a vanity of strength, willing to sacrifice all simply to be right. He had begun to comprehend the power at his fingertips – the dragon stone, the heart of Asha, was an endless well of such power. It could amplify his skills as a healer, but it could also help him decimate a village. With the abilities of the dragons waiting for his call, no wizard would be able to stop him. None that is save one – Voldemort. It would be a clash of titans and, if it were to take place in a city, it could mean that thousands would die. If the battle were on the grounds of Hogwarts, every student would be at risk.

That, of course, was why she was here; she was of the House of Hayk. Mama had known of Gabriella's feelings the first day she had set eyes on him; perhaps she had seen more. Sooner than she would have liked, Mama gave Harry the stone and, love him or hate him, Gabriella was bound to stay close and watch the stone and the wizard that would wield it to the end of her days.

Now, however, with Harry holding her hand, her fears and regrets were ebbing away. He had pledged to set things straight and his eyes showed only truth and love. If he could master those emotions and truly tap the stone's strength, no one need be destroyed but the Dark Lord himself. One day, perhaps, Harry would know the true depth of the relief that was now spreading across her soul. It meant the dawn of a new era. Gabriella had doubted, but Mama had been right all along.

"You're _wearing_ it?" asked Harry in disbelief. He was weak from having lost so much blood, and it appeared to Gabriella that, while his wounds had healed, his mind was still a bit shaky. Nonetheless, this news helped to steady his thoughts. "Why, in Merlin's name, are you wearing it?"

"There was a chance," she said silkily, "that you would try to hurt me. I didn't want to strike back and I knew the cloak would protect me from your spells."

"I would never hurt you!" Harry protested.

"You just tried to stun me!"

Harry was almost shocked at hearing the words. It was as if that… _that_ was a different Harry. "And how did you know the cloak would protect you?" he asked.

"At the Ministry last year, Harry. You may not remember, but the lot of us were firing spell after spell at Voldemort and all it did was slide him further toward you."

"But Voldemort's cloak is black. What have you done to it?"

"It was never black. Not really. What you see is the cloak's natural appearance. He must have turned it black once he realized what he'd done. I suspect it was his first go at a Horcrux. An interesting choice, I think, to cast this particular bit of his soul away – all that was ever good in Voldemort. It's all here Harry, what little there was. The fabric is imbued with the goodness of Tom Riddle. Hence, the cloak is brilliantly white, for it only takes a little goodness to light the world.

"Voldemort must have been furious," she continued. "He cast a dying charm over the fabric, a simple one at that. Mama's used one like it before to colour my robes. His second attempt, the black snitch, I'm sure was more to his liking."

Harry stepped over and held the fabric in his hand. "Are you sure it's safe?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, taking him by the hand. "It will, I believe, protect the wearer from any sort of… spell." Her voice wavered and her eyes revealed a flash of fear. She tried to control it, but it slipped out anyway. Harry's eyebrows furled. He was trying to understand and she hoped, with all her might, he would fail, but the look of fear now filling his own eyes told her that he remembered.

"The cloak!" he cried. "The vision of your death… you were adorned in white robes. Harry's face became pale. "It was no spell, Gabriella. It was a Centaur's arrow! Take them off; take them off now!"

He began to tug at the cloak and Gabriella obliged. "Harry, you need to understand," she said, trying to calm his nerves. "Visions… they have different facets, different meanings. We don't know—"

"We don't need to find out either!" he snapped, rolling the cloak in a ball and glancing around, trying to decide what to do with it. Finally, his mind settled on something and he smiled. "We'll burn it!" he yelled and he began to jog toward the entrance. "I'll bet it won't survive dragon fire."

"Harry, wait!"

Gabriella chased after him, pleading with him to stop, but Harry wouldn't listen. He burst through the entrance of the caverns and out onto the open courtyard, the frozen wind howling on the mountain. A few paces back, Gabriella heard the incantation in Slovakian. Harry let out a short cry and just as Gabriella came through the opening herself, she saw him fall stiff to the ground.

"Stop!" she cried. "Hold you spells!"

Surrounding the courtyard, knee deep in snow, were fifteen of the finest members of the Votary. Katana was among them. All of them had their wands at the ready and one had cast the spell immobilizing Harry. They had been instructed to stop him, no matter the cost, if he tried to escape with the robe. Gabriella, her heart pounding, was relieved they did no more harm.

After she had explained what had happened and they released Harry from the spell, he stood up, dusting the snow off his trousers. Still pale, he was hardly able to stand. Yet, even in this weakened state, a few of the Votary stepped back, fearing retribution. Katana held her ground. She smiled, stepping forward, and waved her hand; the snow vaporized in a puff of steam. Harry reached down to pick up the bundled cloak. It was as white as ever, untouched by the muddy earth. Before he could reach it, however, Katana snatched it up.

"So you wish this destroyed by dragon fire, Primate?" she asked rhetorically. "I will see to it personally." Harry could hear her call to Talisan with her mind. It was a simple call for aid that all members of the Votary were capable of, not the ability to share open discourse as Harry could do, bearing the ring of onyx. Gabriella could see that Harry was struggling with his thoughts. He would stay to see the deed done, if she let it happen. It would be best if he got off the mountain and Apparated back to Sirius's castle. There, Mama would heal him properly.

"Harry," she said, taking him by the arm and pulling his eyes away from the sky. "You really must go. First to the castle where Anthony was killed and then to Cho to tell her the truth. She and Jamie may already be in danger. You mustn't wait any longer. If you stay, it will be days before you're strong enough to fight. Mama could help you before the sun sets."

Harry looked at Katana and the white cloak, now tucked tightly in her arm. He glanced to the sky and could see the dragon Talisan swirling in for a landing. Another member of the votary, Groslick, a Russian wizard with keen blue eyes and a sharp chin, handed him a broom.

"Katana says you are more at home in air than on ground. Good for one who dances with dragons."

"Thank you," said Harry and then his eyes turned toward Gabriella. "Swear to me that you'll have Talisan burn the cloak with all her power."

"I swear."

"And you won't follow me," added Harry. "Swear that. I won't have you killed before my eyes, trying to do something foolish to save me in the Forbidden Forest."

"Don't be silly," she said, trying to smile.

"Swear it!" He was undeterred, his face filled with concern, and it warmed her heart.

"I swear," she said softly. Then she stepped over to him and kissed his lips. "Be on your way. The world is waiting." With great effort, he pushed up from the ground, but once the burden of gravity had been lifted his spirits rose as well. He smiled and, in a flash, disappeared over the ridge of the mountains to the south just as Talisan landed on a great rock near the courtyard."

"You do not lie, Katana," said Groslick with a whistle. "He flies like the wind."

Katana turned to Gabriella. "With luck he will see your mother before nightfall, but even she cannot heal his heart in but a day."

"You're right, Katana," said Gabriella, taking the white cloak from her hand. "Nor will he be able to leave the castle until the walls are rebuilt. That too will take time." Gabriella walked over to Talisan. _"Incendiamos!"_ she cried, holding the white cloak above her head.

The dragon roared and spouted a great stream of fire directly at Gabriella. The swirling heat filled the courtyard and most of the Votary had to shield their eyes from its brightness. In a flash it was over. Gabriella was untouched by the flame, but so too was the white cloak above her head.

"I didn't think it would work," she said, more to herself than anyone else. She lowered the brilliantly white cloak and then slipped it on once again. Katana stepped toward her.

"But, Gabriella, you swore that—"

"I swore that Talisan would burn the cloak with all her power. She has. It didn't work."

"And now?" asked Talisan. "You break your oath by following him to the forest?"

Gabriella laughed. "Don't be silly," she said with a sad smile. "I'll be to Hogwarts long before Harry ever arrives." It would take Harry weeks, perhaps months to set things straight, but she now knew in her heart he would fulfil his pledge.

She whistled and Talisan dropped down, allowing Gabriella to climb upon her long neck. Soon she was high in the sky headed east toward Hogwarts and toward her destiny, however grim it might be. The wind was whipping at her eyes, but it was not the wind that caused the tears to fall down her cheeks. It was, after all, her duty.

* * *

The rushing wind, howling about the castle windows seemed more mournful than ever before. The stones themselves looked heavier than normal and the whole of Hogwarts drooped with a forlorn feeling that had not left since the death of Dumbledore some two months earlier. Even so, the coming spring would soon bring with it new life, new possibilities, new challenges. Professor Dumbledore had not been the first Headmaster to pass, nor would he be the last. The institution and its students would continue forward, learning, discovering, stepping out ever onward and with a purpose that was, now, perhaps more meaningful than could be imagined. All knew that the darkness was moving in on them – this epicentre of magic within Britain. Signs about the Isle were ominous. Worse were reports within the last week, signalling the coming of vampires, werewolves and other dark creatures all pressing in toward Hogwarts. 

Not only were the signs about Britain foreboding; so too were the signs in the heavens above. The great comet Ebyrth was bright enough for everyone to see, Muggles and wizards alike, even in the daytime sky. Students in Astronomy had been given assignments to track its progress. All now knew that the flaming white comet had just past the orbit of Jupiter and appeared, for all the arithmetic celestial calculations, as if it were speeding along on a direct path toward the planet Mars. The comet's trajectory was known to be erratic and unpredictable, but the signs seemed certain. No one knew what might happen upon impact, not even Professor Sinistra. "It would be," she said, "a cataclysmic collision, but no more dramatic than the one unfolding before us."

Never before had the students of Professor Barghouti paid so close attention and never before had he been so straightforward with them, teaching the moves and spells, the curses and counter-curses that they would likely need in the coming onslaught. His teachings were not so much about the learning of new spells, but rather the application of old spells in new ways. It was, for many, very much as Harry had taught them in the Room of Requirement, a touchstone for the students that made them comfortable and Barghouti used it to full advantage. He had been, surprisingly, a steadying influence after Dumbledore's passing, but was rarely seen about the school at night. Once, in passing, he had mentioned tutoring a singular pupil. All had assumed it to be Harry, until word came that he had been severely injured by Malfoy, barely able to move and certainly unable to use a wand. The unknown apprentice was a mystery, a riddle to be sleuthed, but one that Hermione Granger cared little of.

Instead the brightest of all Hogwarts students had, since Dumbledore's death, withdrawn from anything that might attract attention to her. She had even stopped raising her hand in class with the result that Gryffindor was in last place for the House Cup. She cared little of house points and found herself unable to find cheer in much of anything. She attended Gryffindor's victory over Ravenclaw, but read a book during the whole match, even though Ron had saved seven goals. When Dennis caught the Snitch and Gryffindor had won, Ron glanced her way from the rings. Because of the cheers, her eyes had lifted up and, for a moment, their eyes locked, but the moment was fleeting and when their eyes broke, both were saddened by the encounter.

She had not been able to speak with him since he had attacked her in Professor McGonagall's bedroom. _Speak to him? _She could barely look at him. She refused to stay in the same room with him, unless it was for class, and she never ate while he ate, often skipping a meal to avoid contact. Madame Pomfrey said that it was affecting her health, making her more irritable and anxious, nauseous and light-headed, but Hermione refused to change her patterns, and wouldn't speak to anybody about what had happened the night they _all_ had died. In a very real way, all who entered McGonagall's room that night left behind a part of who they once were and none would be the same again.

Having skipped another meal because Ron had been discussing Quidditch at the Gryffindor table with Dennis Creevey, Hermione found herself alone in the library. There were a few places, among the stacks, where students rarely wandered and, here, she was afforded some modicum of peace. Her stomach grumbled and a sharp pang stabbed at her lower abdomen. Her mind fleeted downward, but in an instant she forced her thoughts onto other things. She unfurled a roll of parchment on ancient arithmancy and began to study the intricate combinations and symbols. The sums… the sums were simple, but the transduction to lower-level magical meanings… the irrational behaviour of a spell at its foundation… before parsing and motion… the arithmetic constructs… power in amplification… her stomach stabbed again… motion in seven… chant by eight…

A tear fell onto the parchment and Hermione cursed herself for feeling.

"Stop it," she said quietly, with a sniff. Wiping her face roughly, she shook her head and tried to focus. "Transduction of the lower primary—"

"Hi," whispered a kind voice. "I brought you something."

Hermione looked up to find Ginny Weasley standing above her, a sandwich in one hand. She set the sandwich down next to the parchment.

"And a bit of a drink." Ginny pulled a bottle of ginger-ale from her pocket and placed it next to the sandwich.

Hermione looked around. "Really, you shouldn't be bringing food into the library," she said softly. Ginny just rolled her eyes as Hermione knew she would. Ron's sister had been trying to speak with her for weeks, but Hermione had been doing a respectable job rebuffing her advances. But either Ginny was becoming more adept at finding ways to get Hermione to talk, or Hermione was finding the need to talk to someone so great… In either case, Hermione's will was weakening.

"Not to worry, Hermione," said Ginny with a sly smile. "Madam Pince is… preoccupied at the moment."

Hermione was about to say something, but stopped short. Instead, she simply nodded and wrapped her hand about the sandwich. "Thanks."

"Simple enough," said Ginny, and she took the opportunity to sit as Hermione began to eat. She glanced down at the parchment and let out a soft whistle. "_Arithmetic Constructs – The Ancient Transduction of Power to Magic._ Sounds complicated."

"It is," said Hermione, taking a sip of ginger-ale. "_The New Age of Arithmancy_ is just so tediously simple. If I simply stuck with the text I'd—" Hermione cut herself short and took another bite of her sandwich.

"You'd what?" asked Ginny. Hermione remained silent, continuing to chew her sandwich and stare a bit above and to the right of Ginny's left shoulder, off into nothingness. "Hermione, no one knows what happened in McGonagall's office. Ron won't say a word. All we know is that Dumbledore died and that Voldemort escaped by taking control of Snape. I… I don't understand. Why won't you see Ron? Why avoid us all? I only want to help."

Holding the bottle of ginger-ale, Hermione's hand began to tremble. As she set it down, the table vibrated, creating an eerily muffled rattle within the high stacks of books. She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. Her breathing quickened.

"Hermione?"

The colour was leaving her face and, from nowhere, Hermione conjured a bag. Holding it tight over her mouth, she wretched. It lasted only a moment. With a wave of her wand the bag disappeared and she took another sip of her ginger-ale. The motion was effortless; clearly not the first time this had happened. Hermione knew Ginny would notice and she began to collect her things.

"I… I really must be going. I…"

Ginny touched Hermione's arm. "Going where?" Hermione jerked away, fear filling her eyes. She stood and Ginny stood with her. "Hermione, maybe… maybe you've a hundred reasons to leave right now. I only have one reason for you to stay. I love you. You know that, don't you? We… we miss you."

A tear dripped down Hermione's eye and she turned to leave. Her heart was aching. She felt so isolated, so alone, but it wasn't possible. She couldn't. She took a step and stopped. She looked back to see Ginny, tears filling her eyes as well. There was hurt in those eyes, anguish for a friend in pain. Hermione's heart twisted and in that moment of hesitation Ginny reached out to hug her.

Hermione had not allowed anyone to so much as shake her hand since the night Dumbledore died. When a first year ran about a corner and nearly knocked into her in the corridor, she flung him up against the wall, sticking him there ten feet in the air and silencing his screams. As Ginny stepped forward, Hermione had the strongest urge to do the same, but resisted, allowing her friends arms to hold her. Through the tears, Hermione finally reached about Ginny and hugged her in return.

It was some time before they sat, holding each other's hands, sniffing. Ginny resisted the temptation to prod, but instead waited patiently.

"Strange," Hermione finally whispered.

"How's that?" asked Ginny softly.

"You're as dear to me as any sister could be. And yet… you nearly killed me."

Ginny's eyebrows furled. She didn't understand.

"Well, not you… the Basilisk," Hermione answered Ginny's expression. Ginny let out a short gasp, but said nothing more. "And not really you. It was Voldemort's fault, right?"

"Hermione, I—"

"I've faced him, you know? Not just Tonks dressed up to look the part, but the Dark Lord himself. I've heard his high, cold laugh. I even sent a curse his way, only to watch it bounce off him… about as effective as a ping-pong ball." Tightening her grip about Ginny's hand, Hermione's eyes grew distant. "I watched him die that night, melt to nothingness." She laughed, a short maniacal chuckle that bristled the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck.

"I was so quick to tell the others to forgive… to embrace James when he returned. And then… and then I left him alone. I knew better. It's my fault and I've paid dearly for my mistake. I knew…" She shuddered. "Pray you never have a wand pointed at your face, when the wizard holding it utters _Avada Kedavra_."

"Snape? He didn't!" Ginny gasped. But the sad smile still remained on Hermione's lips.

"Only _Avada-._ Only. You've heard the talk in the halls. Everyone thinks Voldemort had possessed Snape all along. It wasn't Snape who… who attacked me. It was Ron. So, in a way… you've both tried to kill me, brother and sister, but you both came up just a teensy bit short."

Hermione expected Ginny to pull away. In fact, she hoped it. But her friend held fast, refusing to move. It was in that moment Hermione's defences fell completely and she began to sob uncontrollably. Finally, through the tears, she muttered, "Ron… stopped him. For a moment I saw his eyes return, but just as quickly they were gone, consumed by red, vicious…"

"Hermione, what happened?"

"Voldemort controlled him, but Ron wouldn't let him kill me. Be-Before Dumbledore arrived with Snape and Barghouti… he… he raped me." Her voice was cold and still, a billowing hatred burning fire beneath the ice. Ginny's eyes filled with horror. She had known the oppressing power that Voldemort had over her will. That he could force Ron to such savagery… yes, she could understand.

"Gin, I can't stand to look at him. The one person I love more than anyone in the world, I despise above all. I want to hold him in my arms… I want him dead."

Slowly, Hermione began to reign in her swinging emotions. The tears had passed and the walls with which she had shielded herself with theses last few weeks began to grow once more. Pulling in a deep breath, she quickly gathered her things and began to leave.

"Hermione!" pleaded Ginny, but Hermione continued to wind her way through the stacks.

"I can't forgive him Gin," she said over her shoulder. "I won't."

"But wasn't it you that told him what it would mean to all Hogwarts for him to forgive James?"

Still looking over her shoulder, she called back, "And what would happen if all Hogwarts discovered that it wasn't Snape that killed Dumbledore. It was Ron Weas—" She slammed into someone, spilling her papers out onto the floor. She turned to see Ron standing there, his face expressionless.

"I didn't kill Dumbledore," he said with a dead voice. "I killed me."

Looking briefly at Ron's face, she wanted to scream, but quickly pulled herself together and bent down to pick up the papers she'd dropped onto the floor. Ron bent down to help, but she snapped at the papers he was reaching for.

"Go… away," Hermione said stiffly, quietly, teetering upon the brink of an abyss she dared not look over. When she stood, papers in hand, she had no where to turn. Ron was in front, Ginny in back. She wanted to send a curse, she wanted to hear what he meant by killing himself. And then, she made a fateful mistake. She looked up and gazed into his eyes. It had been the first time she had truly looked into them since… since…

"I wish it had been me," he whispered. "I begged him let me go." His eyes were dead, lifeless. The depth of despair there was greater than Hermione bear. "He said… he said that, if I died, you'd blame yourself. I… I told him it was bunk. I guess… I guess I was right." Ron turned to leave, but then stopped and looked back at Hermione. "If I could leave Hogwarts right now, I would, but I made a promise, see? I made a promise to a man who gave his life for mine and I won't—" Ron's lip began to quiver; he shrugged and walked away. "I'm sorry."

Hermione watched as Ron disappeared behind one of the stacks, walking toward the exit of the library. She wasn't sure if it was Ginny, or something else, but she felt a slight shove push her forward, a tug pulling from her insides out. Perhaps it was a nymph of spring rekindling the fires of her heart. For what ever reason, she took a step… and then another.

"Ron," she whispered.

She began to run.

"Ron! Wait!"


	38. The Road Rejoined

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 3****8 – The Road Rejoined**

**~~~***~~~**

"Harry?" Cho asked, looking through a haze of smoke, billowing from the small fire burning before her. "Is it really you?"

As Cho stood and stepped toward him, he notice that she looked… thinner than he last remembered, perhaps a bit too thin. Her eyes held a wisdom he had not seen before, but at a cost – they held no joy. He wiped the tears from his face and tried to shake the haunting tone of her song from his mind.

"Hi," he whispered with a sniff, trying to muster a smile.

The days of April saw the melting of the winter's snow and the budding of blossoms throughout the forest, but the evenings were still frosty and, as he stepped toward Cho, he rubbed his hands by the fire. It didn't help; he still felt cold.

On the ground beside Cho, he could see a tuft of black hair protruding from a bundle of blankets – Jamie lay sleeping. Seeing his son, the beat of Harry's heart began to quicken. Multiple emotions swirled within him – a fullness of love, an eagerness to protect, and the first true awareness of fatherhood. Yet, even though these feelings energized his inner core, he still felt cold.

Cho stood and wrapped her arms around him and he returned the gesture, sensing, for a moment, the echoes of the love he had once felt for her, the passion they once shared, the closeness that brought them the boy that now lay sleeping. Knowing the lengths he would go to shield her from any more harm, he pulled her close and felt the beating of her heart next to his. And even as he felt her bosom rise and fall with every breath, so too did a chill rise up his spine and crash within his soul.

He began to shiver and she pulled away to look into his eyes, eyes he did not wish to share.

"Harry, what is it?" she asked, reaching up and placing her heated hand against his chilled cheek.

He could sense her gaze looking deeper within his soul, and was eager to look away that his own eyes might set upon anything but her sad face. Yet, he remained steadfast, knowing what he must do, what he must say. He took her hand into his and began to tell the story as he had promised Gabriella he would. His words were quiet, slow and deliberate; each building upon those that came before. For four weeks he had practiced them as he helped Sirius rebuild the castle Harry had destroyed, the castle in which Anthony Goldstein, Cho's husband, had been killed by Harry's hand. Stone by stone Harry and Sirius worked to raise the fallen walls. It was tedious and monotonous and, in those hours of brick upon mortar, as Harry mixed brawn and magic to remake what was undone, his mind calmed and his heart found the rhythm of nature that it had lost.

It was not until the last day, this very day, that Harry knew his work with Sirius was done and that it was time to complete his oath and tell Cho all that had happened. Sirius slept while Harry laid the last stone and, still upon his knees, said a prayer declaring his remorse and asking for forgiveness. It was in that moment that he could feel life return, flowing through him and infusing the stones with an energy they had not previously known under the Black family crest. The castle and all Harry had destroyed had been healed. All that is except for the life that Harry had taken, the life that could not now be restored – Anthony Goldstein's.

Standing by the fire as he bared his soul to Cho, he watched, with each passing phrase, the colour slowly drain from her face. Her hands began to tremble as she stared in disbelief. At last, Harry completed the story's telling, a story of fire and his unquenchable thirst for victory at all cost.

"I'm sorry," choked Harry.

"But it was Malfoy!" she cried. "I… I saw him. I… I _killed _him!"

"No," answered Harry softly, slowly shaking his head. "It was me. I ruined the castle. I destroyed Anthony."

In a flash, Cho pulled her wand and held it at Harry's throat; he did not move.

"YOU'RE LYING! TAKE IT BACK!"

Heartfelt pain passed across Harry's face. He wished that he could take it back. That somehow it was within his power, but there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Tears began to pool at the bottom of his eyes. It was then that Cho knew. She had killed, not an innocent man, but a guilty one for the wrong reasons. She stepped away from Harry, looked at her own wand with horror and dropped it into the fire.

"No!" she wailed.

Quickly, before it flamed, Harry reached down and pulled the willow wand from the embers with his bare hand. Holding it out, he stepped toward her, but Cho stepped back.

"I… I killed him," she said, shattered by what she'd done. "With _that_ wand, I murdered him."

"It wasn't murder."

"He didn't deserve to die!"

"What?" Harry exclaimed. "He was torturing me and, given more time, would have killed me. This wand saved my life. You… you saved my life." These last words held a deeper meaning and began to calm her. "After it was over, the moment I had to tell you, to tell everyone slipped through my fingers. In my mind I didn't think it would matter, but it was really my shame. I couldn't bear to tell you that I had killed Anthony."

"But it does matter!" she yelled, and ran at him, hammering his chest with her fist. "It does! It does. It does." Harry stood still, letting her collapse against him and sob into his jacket.

"I know," he whispered. "I've always known. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to realize that."

For quite some time they stood by the fire and Cho cried on Harry's chest. She spoke of her love for Tony, and of losing the dream they shared together. She cursed Harry's arrogance and continued, on occasion, to hammer her fist into his chest. Finally, after a long stretch of silence, Cho clenched the front of his jacket, put her head against his chest and whispered, "I understand."

The chill in Harry's fingers receded and the fire's warmth spread across the side of his body. He pulled her close and drew in a long deep breath, and then, slowly, exhaled.

"Please," he whispered, "sit with me."

They both sat next to Jamie and stared at the fire for a while. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "How has he been?" he asked, peeking under the blanket that covered his son's head.

"I… I think, somehow, he knows. Maybe it's just me, but with each passing day, he's been getting more irritable. He can't possibly know what's coming, but somehow he does."

"Maybe he knows his mother's worried."

"Maybe," she said, nodding her head. "But the Centaurs… Macleta, she's been good to us. I didn't think I'd ever get over Draco attacking me."

"He'll pay for that," spat Harry fiercely.

"I don't know," said Cho, looking out into the darkness. "Maybe I should have killed them both."

"You should never have been put into that position. That's my fault. I'll see it doesn't happen again."

"Well, I'm safe here. Macleta's been watching over us both like a mother hen. She was here a moment ago; I don't know where she just—"

"I asked her to leave before I came to camp. It's kind of… telepathy." Cho looked at him with surprise. He shrugged. "I've been training with the Centaurs here for some time. She knew I was coming before I stepped one foot into the forest."

It's just… I didn't want her here when I told you," he continued. "They think we're mates."

"No," Cho said. "Gabriella is—"

"And Gabriella," Harry interrupted. "Centaurs are not monogamous and Jamie here is proof enough that you're my first… well, Centaurs are quite perceptive."

"They know the war's coming here," said Cho. "More Centaurs have been arriving every day, preparing for the battle. All they can talk about is that comet." For the first time, Cho's eyes left the fire and looked toward the sky. There, shimmering through the smoky haze, was Ebyrth as bright and fiery as ever. When she looked back down, her eyes met Harry's. The shadows of the firelight made her face appear thinner, skeletal. "Is he really coming for Jamie?" she asked, the slightest tremble in her voice.

"Yes," said Harry without hesitation. "He can't get here by coming round the mountains. I've seen to that. He'll have to pass through Hogsmeade first, then the school. If, by some miracle, he passes through both those lines of defence, he'll find the forest holds yet more surprises. You'll be safe."

"We should leave," said Cho, beginning to stand. "We're putting everyone at risk."

"No!" snapped Harry, taking hold of her arm. "Cho, he's vapour, nothing more than smoke and spirit. If you leave, he'll find you; he'll find Jamie. Spirit will become substance, and he'll become more dangerous than he ever was before."

Harry turned and took Cho's hand.

"Don't you see?" he said. "Now is our last, best hope. Now, when he's at his weakest, when we know where he wants to strike. There's nowhere in the world safer than with the Centaurs. Trust me; I swear."

Cho nodded her head and sat still, turning once more toward the fire. There was a rustling through the trees and a moment later Macleta stepped through. She wasn't smiling, but her face was peaceful and proud.

"Your journey has been long, Harry Potter," said the Centaur as she offered a slight bow. "Can I offer you something to drink?" Harry stood and bowed as well, returning the sign of respect.

"It's a pleasure to find you well Macleta. I would—" He stopped, sensing that the Centaur was shielding her mind for some reason. "Is all well?" he asked.

"These are troubled times," she replied, looking up to the stars. "Soon, there will be fire in the sky." Harry's mind turned toward the dragons that he had summoned to guard the mountain passes behind the forest. Time was indeed short and he had yet to visit the castle.

"Thank you, Macleta," he said, bowing once more, "but I must be going. There are many preparations still to be done. It is my hope that his forces never make it to the forest."

"If they do," answered Macleta with a calm voice, "they will be decimated."

Harry glanced once more at his son and then to Cho.

"Stay here," he said. "You'll be safe with the Centaurs." He began to leave, but stopped just before he left the fire's light. He turned back to Cho. "I love you," he said with determined eyes. "I love you both." He turned back toward the castle and ran.

He darted through the forest, weaving through trees, passing Centaur after Centaur. Just as he had on his way in, he noticed too the presence of ghosts, dozens upon dozens of ghosts. He would feel their chill if he accidentally ran through one and occasionally he would notice their stare – keen eyes, nervous and searching, like first years at King's Cross Station, looking for Platform nine and three-quarters. Harry once had eyes like those. In fact, he wondered if— _boom!_

Darkness and stars filled Harry's vision as he fell dizzily to the earth. Unable to gather his senses, he reached haphazardly for his wand. He hadn't been watching in front of him; had he run into a tree? There was someone, something moving in front of him. Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge the cobwebs from his mind.

"Nearly a year of training and this is what you have to show for it?" blasted a stern voice, deep and sorrowful. "I told you your wizard training was a waste. You can't even walk through the forest."

"R-Ronan?" Harry asked, rising to a sitting position. His vision was clearing and he could just make out the Centaur in front of him. "Ronan, is that—" He stopped himself. Of course it was Ronan. He didn't need to see to know that.

"I had heard you were in the forest," the Centaur replied, not offering Harry any assistance. "There were those who questioned, but I knew you would return. None too soon."

Balancing against the trunk of a tree, Harry took to his feet. He felt something trickle down his face and when he reached up to wipe it away he realized his left temple was gashed. He rubbed the blood in his fingers, pulled out his wand and tried to heal the wound as best he could. Cuts that couldn't be seen were always tricky; those on the face being the most difficult.

"I… I had to set my affairs in order," said Harry, wincing as his wand sealed the wound.

"Humph," grunted Ronan. "I've seen your… _affairs_. You've been busy, Harry Potter, but not for the right reasons. Still, the Centaurs will fulfil their oath to the family of the Chosen. As long as I draw breath, they are both safe here. You know, two mates for one so young… it is not wise in times of war."

"Wisdom was never one of my strong suites," said Harry. He was about to ask what Ronan meant by _both_, when the Centaur snorted.

"Clearly they are from the same stock. Are they twins?"

"Twins?" asked Harry with surprise. "Not even close. You couldn't find two women with such different—"

"Same height, same long, black hair," interrupted Ronan. "They seem like twins to me, but then it is difficult for a Centaur to tell you wizards apart, except perhaps that red haired friend of yours. I would recognize him from a dozen furlongs away."

Harry's face fell almost at once. He'd heard that Ron had been taken by Voldemort. He'd heard that he had something to do with Dumbledore's death. There was a part of Harry that was angry at his best friend and a part that was guilty for not having seen Voldemort's plan sooner. It had all become a muddled mess and it seemed to Harry that, taken on whole, things weren't going so well.

As saddened as Cho was for having killed Lucius for the wrong reasons, Harry recognized that the loss of Lucius' relatively sane leadership would strike a blow at the Death Eaters. Remus had said that Snape was taken by Voldemort. Harry thought that combination might make for a formidable opponent, but Remus was more optimistic, although he never explained why. As for Draco, Harry had heard nothing of the younger Malfoy save for the disturbing news of his attack on Cho. Yet there had been no word of the wizard since; it was as if he'd fallen from the face of the earth. Harry felt in his heart that Draco had some larger role to play and, if he was now more vampire than human, more dark wizard than light, it would be incumbent upon Harry not to hesitate the next time the two wizards met. But could he kill him? It, somehow, didn't feel right.

"You are troubled?" asked Ronan as the two walked in the loamy earth of the forest toward Hogwarts castle. Harry let out a short, tight laugh.

"Troubled?" he said, stopping to consider one particularly crooked tree. It was dead. The bark on its trunk had been pealed away and there were no leaves on any of its many gnarled branches. "There is a darkness descending upon us and I am to blame. One poor decision after another has cost the life of a friend and a… a father, our only hope out of this war."

"I see," said Ronan solemnly. "But do _you?_ After all this time, have you learned nothing?" Ronan stood, waiting, Harry knew, for the young wizard to decipher his words. They would not leave this spot unless Harry… he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind to see the world around him.

The tree, which at first sight had appeared so dead, so lifeless, was anything but. Its trunk was pulsating with energy and the inner core of its branches was busily preparing to burst forth with the coming of spring. Its roots were brighter still, plunging deep into the earth below Harry's feet and then outward. Harry turned and found them connected to other such trees scattered about the forest. These were the _Casses _trees, an interlocked network that ran all through the forest, a network the Centaurs used to know anything and everything that happened in these woods.

"You are still so very much a wizard," bemoaned Ronan. "If there had been more time… ten or twenty years perhaps." The Centaur hoofed the ground, shaking his head. Then, slowly, his gaze looked to the heavens. "It is, almost always, a steady, rhythmic pattern. The sun and earth, the moon and stars, all dancing to the same music, each knowing the other's role to play. So it is with life, Harry Potter. And yet, every now and then, something magnificently different enters the sky."

"Ebyrth," whispered Harry, looking to the sky himself and watching the comet high above.

"Ebyrth," echoed Ronan. "I have seen the coming of these days for over a year. The skies have shown me the role of the Chosen, the death of Albus Dumbledore, the war and the great battle that now approaches us."

"Then you know the outcome," said Harry, almost as if in question.

"No," replied Ronan dispassionately. "Ebyrth does not dance well with others. It hears a different music. Soon, we will know. It will be close."

"What will be close?" asked Harry, frustration building in his voice. He'd heard these words before.

"Ebyrth draws close to Mars. If the two should strike, it would mean the end of Ebyrth, the end of all wars between Centaur and Dementor."

"And that's a good thing, right?"

"In that battle, Mars destroys Ebyrth. There are those of my kin that believe the collision is inevitable and that Mars will be victorious." Ronan looked down at Harry, his face as grave and sorrowful as Harry had ever seen it. "You may be a wizard, but I know you understand what that means. There won't be any more wars because there won't be any more Centaurs left to fight. We will be shattered, consumed."

Harry's eyes shot back toward the heavens. He'd never really paid any attention before, but now he could see. It all made sense. Ebyrth was moving closer and closer to the red planet. He turned back to face Ronan.

"And you… what do you see, Ronan?"

The Centaur sighed. "It will be close." He then turned and started to walk toward Hogwarts.

The two said nothing more as they made there way to the edge of the forest. They could have run, but chose instead to walk. Despite their capabilities to manipulate time and space, Centaurs rarely ever did. They chose instead to bathe in the moment of time, to soak in the here and now and so it was with Harry and Ronan. They came at last to a Centaur guard at the outer ring of the forest. There was another archer to his left and one to his right each some fifty meters away. This was the outer ring of defence and probably meant that the entire forest was encircled with hundreds of Centaurs. Looking at the lone guardian it seemed that he could be easily overwhelmed, but Harry knew that every Centaur across the forest could be at his side in a matter of moments.

As Harry started toward the castle, Ronan took him by the shoulder. "It will be hours not weeks, Harry Potter. The wave grows larger and ever closer to the shore. There is one who believes it will crest on the coming full moon."

Harry smiled. "Ronan, are you making a prediction?"

"Just this," said Ronan, looking above Harry's head and toward the castle. "Your heart will soon feel great joy and sorrow. So it is with wizards."

With these words the Centaur turned and walked away. Likewise, Harry started up the hill toward the castle. He sniffed a hint of hickory in the air and looked up. Smoke was billowing out of the chimney from Hagrid's hut, but there were no lights on inside. It was strange, walking the grounds so late at night after being gone so long, strange and yet familiar. In an hour or two, the sun would rise and the now quiet grass fields would be bustling with students. There was a thin layer of frost on the turf and it crunched beneath his feet. A slight chill spread through his body and he pulled the jacket Gabriella had given him as a Christmas gift tight about his neck. The silence started his mind to wondering why there wasn't anyone about, guarding the castle grounds. It was likely that they had been positioned more forward, in and around Hogsmeade.

He reached out with his mind through the darkness. At the very entrance to the castle was a wizard. From this distance, it was difficult to make out more than that he was seated. Through the walls of Hagrid's hut he could see the half-giant sleeping, Fang on the floor by Hagrid's bed. It was then that he caught the glint of two others down near the lake. They were crouched, looking up toward the castle. Harry drew his wand. If they had been guards, their gaze would have been out across the water. He pulled his invisibility cloak out from his pocket, put it on and quietly made his way down toward the pair, cursing himself for not knowing some spell to silence his footsteps.

He was fifty meters away when he knew by the pair of auras who it was and he lowered his wand. His emotions began to swirl as he continued forward and, by the light of the waxing moon, could make out their faces. He stopped not knowing what he should do. They were whispering. He stepped closer to hear, but then stumbled on a stone.

"_STUPEFY!"_

A blast of red light flew toward Harry. He barely had time to react, only partially deflecting the spell and falling backwards on the ground. He began to slide down the slope toward the lake, his cloak slipping off and over his head. There was another blast of red light, striking just to his left, vaporizing the frosty grass and spraying his face with tepid drips of water that quickly chilled in the night's air.

"Stup—"

"Hermione, STOP!"

"But it's—"

"It's—"

"Harry? Oh, Merlin… Harry!"

He stopped as his feet hit the sandy shore of the beach by the lake and, before he could gather himself, he was scooped into Hermione's arms in a grand hug. She kissed his cheek and pulled the hair from his face, looking for some injury.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "Oh, no! Your temple. Oh, I'm so sorry."

"That wasn't you; that was me. I ran into a tree," answered Harry. She pulled him close with a tight squeeze against her shoulder. "Im deh borfest," he said through the folds of her cloak.

"Let the man breathe, for Merlin's sake," said Ron. He took Harry by the hand…

"Come on, mate."

…and pulled him to his feet.

Harry began to swipe the debris from his clothes and looked back up toward the castle doors. Whoever was seated there hadn't moved.

"Filch," said Hermione, answering Harry's unspoken question. "Every other wizard is sleeping or in Hogsmeade. First through third years evacuate tomorrow, well, today after breakfast; the rest of the students refuse to leave. Most of them, that is."

"I bet you can guess which upperclassmen chose to leave," added Ron. "Snakes, every one of 'em. Good riddance, I say."

Harry was silent. He'd noticed Hermione's eyes, they were red and swollen. She'd been crying and not just a little bit. When Harry looked at Ron, he saw very much the same thing. Here they were, his two best friends, on the eve of almost certain destruction. They probably had been preparing for the battle for weeks, while Harry was in Greece, laying brick upon brick.

"Have you seen them, then?" asked Hermione earnestly. "Cho and Jamie."

Harry nodded. "Yes," he muttered, barely able to say a word. "They're well. They're safe."

"There's nowhere in the world safer, Harry," said Hermione, holding his arm. "You were right to send them here."

"Not quite…" Harry swallowed. "Not quite the way…" An onrush of guilt swarmed upon him and he began to find it difficult to breathe. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I was such a fool. If I would have lost you… either of you…"

For a moment neither Ron, nor Hermione said a word. It was an awkward silence, Ron looking at Hermione, then to Harry, and back to Hermione again. They were talking to each other with their eyes, Ron and Hermione hiding something, but Harry chose not to press further. One thing was clear enough, what had happened at Hogwarts while Harry was away was bad, and whatever forgiveness he had hoped to garner from his friends would take some time before they shared it with him.

"Come on, mate," said Ron, taking Harry by the shoulder. "Let's take you up to the castle. I can smell the morning sausages cooking already."

Hermione came to his other side and put her arm about his waist. "Ron," she said severely, "I don't want you playing any more tricks on Filch. I don't care how much he's blamed you for what's happened."

As they made their way up the castle steps, Harry noticed Filch seated in a chair by the front doors. Dressed in something resembling a clown's suit, he was sleeping with Mrs. Norris in his lap. He had a bulbous red nose, his face was white, and his hair was no wig, but curled and shaded a dust colour so that it resembled his cat's fur.

"If he calls me a murderer again," said Ron coolly, "I'll make sure the changes are permanent."

As the three passed through the castle doors, Harry took one last look at the comical Filch. His insides twisted. He wasn't sure if he should laugh, or cry.

~~~***~~~

Gabriella watched as Harry left Cho by the small fire outside the Centaur compound. She deliberately stayed hidden, not wanting to ruin what he was to do. When, at last, he departed, she couldn't have been more proud, more happy. She had refused to see Harry until he'd completed his penance and now that oath was fulfilled. Mama had spoken of his anxiousness to return to Hogwarts and face the coming battle, but also of his steadfast determination to see his deadly deed undone even if it meant raising Sirius' castle one stone at a time.

She had not spoken a word to Cho; that was for Harry to do. But now her friend needed her and Gabriella moved out of the compound to be at Cho's side. She bowed to Macleta who nodded in return and then continued to gaze outward into the bracken of the forest. Jamie began to stir and Cho lifted him up into her arms, gently patting his back.

"Hi," said Gabriella in a soft voice.

"Hi," replied Cho, rocking Jamie in her arms. She chuckled sadly to herself. "He slept the whole time Harry was here and the moment he leaves… it's like he knows."

"Maybe it's like Harry said," Gabriella responded, placing her hand on Cho's thigh. "He knows his mother."

Cho nodded and shrugged, staring into the fire and slowly rocking her child. "You knew, didn't you?" she asked Gabriella.

"Yes," whispered Gabriella. "But it was not my place to tell."

"How long?"

"As soon as I saw the extent of the damage, I knew. That's why I tried to get you to Hogwarts as soon as I could. I could see where your anger was leading, fed by what Harry had done, but directed at the wrong foe."

"You could have stopped me."

"Perhaps, if Harry had not been in such pain… if I had convinced you sooner. But then, you might have come to Hogwarts as Voldemort had planned and been taken."

Cho looked away. "I wish I had been," she whispered to the earth. "I wish this was over."

"Don't say that! Don't even think it. We need you. We need you both alive and well."

Cho did not respond, but Gabriella bent over and kissed Jamie on the forehead and then kissed Cho on the cheek. "I will never let any harm come to you. Do you understand me? Never!" Gabriella stood. "Please, set Jamie down for a moment and stand with me."

As Cho put Jamie down, Gabriella slipped off the brilliantly white cloak she was wearing. "Here," said Gabriella, offering the cloak to Cho. "Put this on."

"Gab, no," said Cho, "I couldn't possibly. It's too beautiful."

"It is magnificent," said Gabriella with a smile, "but not too beautiful for you. Go on. Put it on." Cho took the white cloak from Gabriella's hand and put it on.

Macleta turned to see what the two young women were doing. She seemed disturbed. "The cloth," said the Centaur, shaking her head, "it is pure, but unnatural. Where you found it and why wizards would wear such a thing…" She shook her head and returned to her watch.

"Unnatural?" asked Cho.

"Magical," answered Gabriella quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the arms with her hand. "As long as you wear this cloak, no spell can strike you down." Cho's eyes widened.

"Gab, I can't possibly—"

"You can."

"But I'll be here, safe. You'll be out there—"

"I'll be… fine," replied Gabriella, her mind slipping to the vision of her fate. "Take it. Wear it always. Keep it as close as your dear Jamie and it may see you both through this war."

"Thank you," said Cho. She reached out and the two hugged.

"I best be going," whispered Gabriella, her eyes misting slightly. "It's been awhile since I've seen my… seen Harry."

Gabriella stepped toward Macleta to ask for a guide out of the forest, when through the trees walked a young, white Centaur – Felspar.

"I'm here, mother," said Felspar. "Shahan refused to escort a—"

"I understand," interrupted Macleta, shaking her head with disappointment. "Gabriella, my daughter will see you out of the forest. There are many guardians along the way. You will be safe."

"Thank you, Macleta," said Gabriella with a slight bow. "You have been, these last many days, like a mother to me. I will do all in my power to keep the battle from your door."

"We have no doors here, my lady," answered Macleta. "Only breezes carrying the coming of spring and open skies hailing the birth of a new star."

As Felspar walked Gabriella into the trees, the young witch turned back and waved to Cho. Her friend waved back, her white robe glimmering in the firelight. It was hard to believe that something so pure could come from one so wicked. Finally, Gabriella looked over to Macleta whose eyes were now fixed on the stars above. The Centaur's gaze was intent and her expression peaceful.

As Gabriella stepped further into darkness, she heard Macleta say softly, "It will be close."


	39. Somewhere Between Life and Death

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 3****9 – Somewhere Between Life and Death**

**~~~***~~~**

The castle was quiet as Ron, Hermione and Harry made their way up the staircase of Gryffindor tower. Something was making Harry anxious and he didn't know what it was. Certainly, it wasn't the silence that disquieted him. No, it was something else, something in the colour of candlelight, the odour of musty paintings and the dampness of the rising humidity clinging in the air that was somehow out of place, disjoint. It was as if he was walking in a separate reality, wholly different from the life he once lived when first he passed through the doors of Hogwarts. Had it been so long?

In the passage of time, what once was so familiar was now foreign and distant. His two best friends still walked at his side; the chandeliers, floating in air, still flickered in the same way; and the creaking staircases still swung and locked into the same positions. But Harry felt as if he was stepping into Hogwarts for the first time, and the grand castle was not welcoming him as it had when he was a first year. Nothing had changed, yet all was different. Dumbledore was dead, the remaining students were huddled at night in the caverns below the school, and an impending doom had set its eye squarely upon the doors through which they had just passed. Even the portraits, framed caricatures now sleeping, seemed somehow paler, diminished by the coming darkness.

"Harry, watch out!"

Too late. Harry's foot fell through the broken step on the staircase. He fell down to his thigh, his foot dangling six stories up in the air. How often had he skipped this step as he climbed these stairs, without thought or worry? He had never fallen through, not even as a first year.

Ron pulled him up through the splinters with surprising ease. "You alright, mate?"

Harry's face was flush with embarrassment. The rescuer already needed rescuing. Had he come to help, or just make things worse? "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he answered brushing the debris from his legs. "They'll be on us now, what with all that racket."

"_They?_ No one's in the castle, Harry," said Hermione, reaching for his hand to help him over the step. Harry's initial instinct was to jerk his hand away; he could step over the damn thing. But, in the end, he took his friend's hand and they continued their climb upwards. She smiled at him and, for a moment, his mind remembered an earlier, happier time. "You don't think they'd let Filch guard anything of value, do you?" she asked.

Ron chuckled, but the question began to gnaw on Harry as they continued their ascent. He was irritated at himself for not considering Filch's counterfeit role. It was obvious and he had missed it. Surely, everyone of import was out in Hogsmeade as part of the first line of defence. The castle would be left empty as it had been last year, during the attack on Hogwarts. The memory tickled a thought.

"Where's Professor McGonagall?" he asked.

"Tonight, Hogsmeade," said Hermione.

"Tonight and every night, you mean. She has a bet with Flitwick over who will have the first kill."

"Kill?"

"Metaphorically," said Hermione.

"Yeah… _metaphorically_," said Ron with a lilt on the last word.

As they came upon the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry looked down on the carpet. There were still a few dark splotches here and there. Most students passed over them without notice. Harry never did and the echoes of what he'd done here sent a shiver up his spine.

He stopped, looking down at the spot where Professor McGonagall had fallen, fending off dozens of Dementors. "_Siad Adumai_," he whispered to himself. There was a cold breeze that brushed against his cheek and twirled within his ear.

A breathless voice whispered, _"Soon."_

"What?" asked Hermione, stopping just before the portrait.

"You heard that?" asked Harry with surprise.

"Yeah," said Ron. "Some spell? Erm, _Seeyad Adaboy?_" Harry took in a deep breath; they had heard only his words, not the voice that, Harry was now beginning to realize, foretold of coming death and was now whispering in his ear more than ever. He wasn't sure, but he was coming to think that it was a voice of spirits, of the dead, of those trapped in this world, unable to make the crossing.

"_Siad Adumai_," he corrected. "It…" he shrugged unable to really explain, "…it blows up Dementors."

"Blows them up?" asked Hermione. "I've never heard of­—" Harry brought his hands together.

"Kerboom!" he whispered, throwing his fingers outward. "Like a Filibuster Firework."

"That's one I want to try," said Ron with a wicked smile, but it soon flickered. "My patronus sucks."

"Peppermint Stick," said Hermione sharply. The Fat Lady roused, but just barely. "I said Peppermint Stick!" The woman in the portrait, her eyes still shut, lifted a finger and the portrait opened.

"As vigilant as ever, I see," snapped Harry.

"Harry?" the portly woman's voice called as the three entered the Gryffindor common room. "Harry Pot—" The door closed shut.

They walked over to the fire, its flames as bright and warm as they ever were. Harry began to sit in front of it, but stopped, offering the small couch to Ron and Hermione instead. Ron sat, but Harry was surprised to see Hermione wander over to one of the tables to take a seat. Clearly, the two were in the midst of another argument. They must have been trying to work things out down by the lake, when Harry interrupted. Now he felt more uncomfortable than ever.

Harry waited a moment, and then sat by the fire next to Ron. His leg was more sore than he wanted to let on and, at the moment, he didn't much care that they were having a squabble. He cupped his hands about his face and rubbed his eyes. "Is it bad?" he whispered to Ron. "You and Hermione?"

Staring at the fire, Ron nodded. Then he tilted his head toward Harry and whispered, "It's getting better. We held hands tonight."

"Held hands?" said Harry, a bit too loudly. "You're engaged for Merlin's sake!" He turned to Hermione. "You do know, that it wasn't his fault don't you?" Harry stood. "If you should be angry at anybody, it's… it's me." He poked at his chest.

"You don't understand," she said softly with dismissive eyes.

"_I don't understand?"_ snapped Harry. "I understand plenty! You know… you _both_ know. I've had the bastard coursing through my veins."

Ron stood behind him. "But he didn't take over you, did he, Harry?" Ron took Harry by the shoulder and turned him so that they faced each other. "You were able to defeat him."

"It's not like that. It was diff—"

"I tried," said Ron. "I tried and failed." Ron's eyes fell on Hermione. "Right here… here in front of the fire. He played me like a fish and snapped my defenses like a twig. I was worthless."

"_Yeh weren't worthless!"_

Everyone turned their attention to the top of the staircase leading to the boys' dormitory. There stood Patrick in black robes, his hands gripping the railing tightly. Ron and Harry had their wands drawn at once, but Hermione stepped forward, her head tilted up at the young Gryffindor above her. His face was pale, his eyes flickering from the fire behind her.

"Patrick," she said softly, moving slowly toward the staircase, "all students are to be in the caverns after hours. You should be down with your friends."

The boy's eyes were steadfast, still focused on Ron. "When he was… in me, yeh almost broke 'im. He was frightened; I could feel it. Fer a moment he thought he might fail." Patrick rolled his grip back and forth over the banister, as if he were starting an imaginary motorcycle. "I tried teh stop 'im, but I… I—"

"You couldn't," said Ron, finishing Patrick's words. The redhead slipped his wand away and Harry followed in kind. Hermione had made her way to the top of the stairs and took Patrick gently by the wrists, trying to pull his hands away from the rail, but the second year resisted. It was then that she noticed streaks of blood coating the wood Patrick was clutching.

"I wanted to tell yeh," said Patrick, now rocking against the banister, "but I couldn't… not until _he_ came." He tilted his head toward Harry. "I only have… a moment." His voice was beginning to pitch higher and his motions more frantic, but still he would not release the banister.

"Patrick, let go!" Hermione insisted.

"One… thing… teh say," sputtered Patrick. "But first yeh need teh know…. Ron… yeh can win. Yeh can defeat— _Ayyyy!_" Patrick cried out in pain and suddenly his body went rigid, and his gaze fell upon Harry.

"Patrick!" cried Hermione. She pulled on his arms, but his grip would not release the rail.

"You have returned," said Patrick to Harry, his voice thin and high, "as I knew you would. The boy, then, is here. You should know that there's nothing you can do. Soon he will be mine."

"That's Voldemort's voice," whispered Ron to Harry.

"You'll be dead before you come close!" yelled Harry.

Patrick's eyes remained fixed, unblinking. "Do you miss your dead friends, Harry? Are you now truly alone?"

"We're right here!" called Ron.

"He can't hear you," said Hermione. "It's… it's some sort of pre-recorded message."

"Are we so different, Harry Potter, you and I? I think not. It's a shame we won't meet again, but fitting you should die with another orphan."

Suddenly Patrick's hands began to role about the railing again. His breathing became labored and, for a flash, his eyes turned toward Hermione.

"Run!" he breathed

"Patrick!"

The wooden rail began to glow, first yellow, then white. The room was filled with light and Ron and Harry had to shield their eyes.

"Hermione," yelled Harry, "it's a trap. Get out of there!" Ron began to run up the staircase.

"Ron, no!"

"I won't leave him here to die!" yelled Hermione as she grabbed Patrick's right hand and tried to pry off his fingers. "Patrick, let go!"

"I can't… stop… please… run!"

"I'm not going to let you die!"

They could all feel the heat now; the rail glowing like a white hot bar of blazing steel. Harry couldn't see a thing until he closed his eyes. He reached his mind out and, for a moment, his vision was overwhelmed by the energy within the wooden banister. It wasn't normal. The wood was dead, but somehow it had been infused with an energy force. Ron was nearly to the top of the staircase. Hermione was at Patrick's side, and that's when Harry noticed. Patrick's life-force was diminishing, draining into the railing, giving it his energy. Hermione pulled one hand free.

Once more Patrick went rigid. "Good-bye, Harry. _Vesco!_"

The room filled with a crackling sound.

"Get down!" cried Harry, even as Hermione worked to free Patrick's second hand. Ron made it to her side and had his arms about her when the world exploded. Heat and pressure filled the Gryffindor common room. In a giant explosion of flame, Harry was lifted from his feet and sent crashing against the stone fireplace, his head slamming hard against the stones. All was dark.

* * *

"Harry. Harry, time to get up."

"Get out of bed yeh lazy arse!"

"James!"

"Lilly, you've spoiled the boy for seventeen years and now we're reapin' the rewards."

The clouds filling Harry's mind began to thin. There was something unnatural and yet very comfortable with the sounds he was hearing. They were fighting… again. They were always fighting. He rolled over in bed and pulled his pillow over his head.

"I said get up!"

A jolt of pain sparked up Harry's backside and he sat bolt upright. He rubbed his eyes and looked over to see his father standing in front of him with his wand drawn. His mother, at the door, shook her head and walked away.

"That's better," said James. "You may think the Wizarding world whirls around your wand, young man, but it doesn't. You've forgotten, haven't you? Today's your big day, or should I say your _last_ day." His father turned toward the door, stopped and looked back. "Arthur Weasley is bending every rule in the book, considering your marks, to get you a job in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. By Merlin's beard, if you screw _this_ up, you're out. I don't care what your mother says. Now get some clothes on and… and do something with your hair." He left, shutting the door with more emphasis than was necessary. Harry was accustomed to the ceremony.

He looked around his room. It was littered with dirty clothes, Quidditch trading cards and various magazines he rarely read. A snake slithered on a dead branch suspended in the air just above his bed. Harry yawned, reached for his wand on the table by his bed and conjured a mouse, levitating it to the snake which struck, swallowed and then closed its lazy eyes. Harry sighed and fell back down upon his bed. He'd been a failure all his life. Surely he would fail today. Who cared about Muggles anyway? Never mind their stupid artifacts.

By the time he made his way downstairs, his father had already left for work. Still barefoot, Harry padded over to a plate of bacon, snatched a couple slices and then took a quick look out the front window to see about the weather.

"Your hair's a mess, love." His mother came up from behind and started smoothing it down.

"That won't help you know."

"That's never stopped me from trying… you know. To dream the impossible dream. Your grandfather—"

"—loved that song," he finished. "Yes, I know."

"Then dream a little yourself. It wouldn't hurt… you know." She kissed his cheek and slipped on her coat. "I'm going to go to the bakery to owl your sister a cake and then I'm off to the shop."

"You never sent _me_ a cake at school," he said, watching a grey cloud pass overhead; it looked like rain.

"You never had your heart broken like this, Harry."

He turned to look at his mother as she got ready to leave. "So Dad still won't let her see him?"

"He doesn't see a future with Patrick. He is an orphan, after all."

"An orphan?" asked Harry incredulously. "That doesn't make it right. He's twice the student I was at Hogwarts and he's not bad with a concealment charm." Harry smiled. "If I could pick a younger brother, he'd be the one. Well, as long as he wasn't a Gryffindor."

Lilly waved her wand; the dishes flew into the sink and began to clean themselves. "I really must go. You can take it up with your father this evening, if you'd like. But, if you want him to listen to you, you'd best come back with good news from your interview this morning." She started out the door. "One can dream."

"Bye mother," he said glumly.

"Oh, such a sourpuss! You do realize how much he loves you, don't you?" Her eye grew wistful. "He was about to leave me… when you came into our lives. If it hadn't been for you, Harry…." She smiled sadly. "The things father's do for their sons. I think… I think, for you, he'd do anything. Destroy the world, if he had to." She let out a long breath and shook her head. "Now, be a love. Just a little effort in that lair you call a room of yours, might soften my heart as well." She smiled and shut the door behind her. There was a bang and all the air and light left the room. The rain clouds began to swirl about Harry's mind and he suddenly began to feel the floor fall away from his feet. He was plummeting downward into an abyss.

* * *

"I'm not sure there is anyone to notify. He is an orphan, after all. As for the girl—"

"Really? An orphan? How sad… Were they close?"

Harry opened his eyes. He looked up to find stone – wet granite; the ceiling glistened with moisture and the air was musty. He was in the caverns below Hogwarts – the hospital ward. He turned toward the voices. The left side of his head was throbbing, and there was a faint ringing in his ear.

"I'm… I am not an orphan," he stammered. "My mother's right— Mother? What's going on?"

"Harry, lie back down." A hand touched his shoulder and pressed him back to his sheets. He turned, ready to protest, but the fire left his throat the moment he saw who it was. "G- Gabriella? What… You can't be here. It's too… Who?"

"It's okay, Harry. You'll be fine." She kissed his forehead.

"Here dear, take a drink of this." Madame Guérir handed him a small goblet. The liquid smelled foul and tasted worse, but as soon as he had his first swallow the ringing in his ear vanished and the clarity of what had happened rushed back into his mind.

"Patrick!" Harry shot upward. "Where's Pat—" The second year was on a cot, just across from Harry's. The boy's hands were folded upon his chest. His face was white, his eyes shut and his body still. Harry had seen death too many times not to know the look. "PATRICK!"

He jumped out of bed and grabbed the dead boy by the arm, shaking him violently.

"_PATRICK!" _

Gabriella pulled him away.

"It's too late, Harry," she cried. "He passed three hours ago."

"It's not too late!" he yelled, his eyes widening. "I can save him. I can… the stone. I'll use the stone!"

"Harry! He's gone." Gabriella pulled him close and whispered in his ear. "There's nothing you can do for him."

"But—"

"It's Hermione who needs you now."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "He doesn't deserve to die! If I just—" She turned him about to face the cot on the other side of his. Kneeled at its side was a redheaded wizard, wearing a scorched cloak. His sooty face streaked from tears, Ron looked up at Harry blankly, his eyes bruised and swollen.

"He killed her, Harry. The bastard killed her."

"Ron," said Gabriella calmly, "she's not dead. Not yet."

"She's slipping, Gabriella. Just like Patrick. She was burning hot and now she's turning cold."

A grey-haired healer that Harry didn't recognize walked over to Hermione's side and passed his wand over her head, bathing it in orange light. He shook his head. "I don't know what it is, but it's the same as the boy," he said. He looked at Harry. "Your friend there is right. If you know her, son, it's time to say good-bye."

Harry reached for Hermione's hand; she was freezing. He looked back at Patrick. Would it be possible? He'd always been told that he couldn't bring back the dead, that it would kill him instead. Could he save them both? He let go of Hermione's hand and took a step toward Patrick. What if—

"_No, Harry."_

Harry stopped. The voice was whispering in his ear again, only this time it was familiar. It couldn't be. He stepped toward Patrick again.

"_Yeh can't save me, Harry. I ain't there nomore. Close yer eyes and see; there's nothin' there teh bring back."_

Harry spun about looking for the prankster. The others seemed oblivious. Gabriella took his arm.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Didn't you hear him?"

"Hear who?"

"Patrick!"

"Patrick?" she asked, looking down at his dead body. "Harry, I know you're not feeling well, but Hermione needs you. There isn't much time. Do it now, while I distract this new healer." She turned to Madame Guérir and the healer at her side. "Excuse me, sir…" Taking him by the arm she began pointing at something at the end of the hospital ward. Soon, the three of them were well away.

The voice echoed in Harry's ears once again. _"Ferget about me. You've got teh— Oh no! I can see her! Hurry!"_

Suddenly, somehow, Harry knew. Without hesitation, he summoned the vivificus stone. While Ron had his head buried at Hermione's side, Harry whispered the incantation. _"Bravery. Wisdom. Love."_ All went white.

It had been so long since he'd used the stone, he wondered if it still was charged as Singehorn said it would be – charged by the ever enduring love of his friends. He would soon know. His mind turned to Hermione. At once colour began to fill the scene. "Heal her," he whispered. "Heal her!"

The colours before him began to swirl about and a scene began to take shape. He expected to see Hermione, ill in her bed, surrounded by grey granite. But instead, the colours shifted from grey to green, green to grey, unable to settle on where they should be until finally they decided green. The vision of a forest glen appeared and in its center was Hermione, dressed in white and walking, her face bathed in the brilliant warmth of the sun.

"Hermione?" he called. At first she didn't respond, smiling as she walked toward the sunlight. He called again. She turned.

"Harry?" she asked, her eyes squinting against the light. "Harry!" she ran over to him and hugged him, kissing his cheek. "I thought for sure you would have made it." There was a tinge of sadness at the corners of her eyes, but they soon brightened. "Will you walk with me?" She took his hand and pulled him toward the sunlight, but he stood fast.

He understood this place. This was not _his_ doorway, but Hermione's. For a moment he wondered what would happen if he did take her hand and follow her to the other side. In fact, he was already sensing a warmth and happiness, if anything a yearning to walk with her through the glen.

"Hermione," he said softly, "we need you back. This… this isn't real. I need you to go back the way you came."

"Are you mental?" she asked. "It's freezing back there."

"Here," he held his arms out wide, "let me warm you up." She hesitated, but his own welcoming smile drew her in. She wrapped her arms around him and he closed his eyes, reaching his mind inward, searching for her life force. It took some time, but soon he found it – a white light with what looked like a reddish twinkle encircled by an arc of icy-blue that was squeezing more tightly with each passing moment.

Harry wished that the dragons were at his side so that he could draw from their power. But then, just as the thought came into his mind, the scar on his arm began to burn, glowing white. He chuckled. They were there with him. They were always with him. He focused his thoughts on the circle of blue light.

"_Incendiamos!_"

Flame and heat filled his vision – a great firestorm. Red, yellow, gold swirled about as if being vacuumed into a giant bottle. There was a snap and all went green. He was in the glen again, but Hermione was no longer in his arms.

"Hermione!" he called. He began to run toward the sunlight. "Hermione!"

"_Harry, stop!"_

He turned to see Patrick, not so much standing in the glen as floating. Instead of forest behind him, there was a dark, tumultuous cloud. He looked thin, papery, a mere projection of the real boy.

"_Yeh did it,"_ said Patrick with a smile. _"She's safe."_ For an instant, Patrick's eyes darted toward the sunlight, but settled back onto Harry. _"It's time yeh returned. We got a lot teh do, eh Harry? A deal to the end."_

"But, Patrick—"

The black cloud began to envelope the boy. As it wrapped about his torso, Patrick's eyes looked back longingly upon the light. But his jaw was set, and his mind determined. He looked back at Harry and with his voice fading into a whisper he said, "_I'll watch yer back, if yeh watch mine."_ Soon, the mist had taken him.

Harry reached out for him, but the ground beneath his feet fell away and all went white. A second later, he found himself on his knees, one hand steadied on the cold, rock floor, the other clutching the stone. He vanished it to its hiding place, and looked up only to see Hermione looking back down at him. She was seated in bed, Ron holding her tightly, her face radiant and her eyes clear.

Gabriella knelt down to Harry and pulled him to his feet. "Come, have some water."

As he stood, he asked Hermione, "How do you feel?"

"Fine. I don't know why everyone's doting over me. Look at Ron! He's a mess!"

Harry began to laugh, took a step and suddenly tilted a bit, his knees giving out from under him. Gabriella caught him just in time and steadied him. He was dizzy and the room wasn't holding still.

"You're weak," she whispered. "You need to eat."

"Patrick," he said with a sigh, "he didn't cross. Out of loyalty to me… I think he's—"

A tremendously painful screech filled the air, followed by three short, loud howls.

"What in Merlin's name is—"

"It's Hogsmeade!" said Gabriella, her voice suddenly tight and panicked. "The attack's begun."


	40. The Second Battle

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter ****40 – The Second Battle**

**~~~***~~~**

The two wizards beat their wings rhythmically against the cool breeze, steadying themselves high in the night sky. The mountain air was cold, but the air was clean and the stars as bright as ever – perfect for gazing. Directly above them, Mars burned brightly, a red dot that seemed to rage against the coming invader – Ebyrth. The comet was bright white with a tail that stretched out like a whip ready to strike. It was no ordinary comet and this was no ordinary evening. To the east the full moon was breaking over the horizon, the third full moon since the death of Albus Dumbledore. Soon its glow would join that of Ebyrth and bathe the ground below, turning night to day. The two wizards preferred darkness and, as the moon rose higher, one let out a low, guttural growl.

"_After all this time, I thought you had mastered your fear,"_ thought the elder wizard. His protégé understood perfectly well.

"_That doesn't mean I have to like it,"_ he responded in kind.

"_This night __holds the answers for which you've been clambering all these many weeks. Your fate is on the precipice, Draco. The choices you make will be your own."_

"_And if I fail?"_

"_We all fail, Draco. It's just a question of how badly and how quickly we recover."_

During his time with Dakhil Barghouti, Draco Malfoy had learned many things. He had learned how to feed without killing, he had learned of the ancient magic and the spells that had long been lost, and he had learned how to control his transformation into a vampire, pushing the change to its limit – until no wizard remained and only the pure power of his new self remained. He was in that state now, hovering above the forest near Dakhil's home. There was something scintillating about being so brutally powerful, but Draco still had trouble accepting his form.

Dakhil, having been turned into a vampire centuries ago, was wolfish in appearance and, one could say, attitude. His fur was a golden brown, and black dots speckled his head and ran down his back to where they coalesced into black bat-like wings. He was terrifying and yet beautiful to behold. As for Draco, he felt there was nothing beautiful about his own appearance. His shape was human, handsome even – two strong arms, two powerful legs and two great bat-like wings that rose high above his head with pointed, razor-sharp talons at the joints. His chest was muscular, certainly more muscular than his human form, with an abdomen that rippled below. His flesh, however, was lizard-like. Every inch of his body was covered in bluish-green scales which reflected his surroundings, making him nearly impossible to see in the dark.

Yet for all this, the reason he could not bear his own image was the distortion of his face and what, or who, it reminded him of. His skull was stretched tall to a dull pointed crown. His ears pointed upwards, sharp and keen. Worse yet, his red eyes and slit nostrils resembled those of a snake, and in this regard he looked in many ways the same as Voldemort when last he walked freely upon the earth. Indeed, Draco looked very much like the Voldemort of old except for this – Draco's mouth was twice too large for his own face. It was a single circular orifice rimmed with jagged and sharp teeth with two tremendous fangs that curled down past his chin. It was a useful tool to dispatch the most difficult of prey and Draco had learned to do so without spilling a drop of precious blood. It was impossible to speak in this form, but he had learned to communicate telepathically, particularly with his mentor, and to growl his words when the mood struck him.

"_I tried to walk this line before__," he growled. "It didn't work."_

"_Didn't it?" queried Dakhil telepathically. "Your father was brought down, although not in the way you intended. Harry Potter survived."_

"_He hates me."_

"_He survived… and at this very moment prepares to battle the forces marching against Hogwarts; some which have sworn fealty to your banner." _

"_They march for Voldemort."_

"_I wonder. Magical oaths are not easily broken. For one so young, you have played your hand well. Still, your heart may be your undoing. I see it in your eyes whenever we speak of—"_

"_I have no heart."_

Dakhil smiled, if the exposure of the long rows of razor sharp teeth could be called such. _"We have trained hard on this, Draco. Keep it hidden, particularly from your Dark Lord. You know Voldemort will mention his name and your eyes must reveal nothing… nothing but hatred."_

As the moon rose higher, Draco held his hand out in front of his face and considered it. The scales shimmered in the moon's light and, as he made a fist, his long claws scratched against the inside of his wrist. He had often complained to Dakhil that he wanted to leave, but he never did, though he was free to do so. Tonight, he could no longer hide; he would have to choose sides. Yet tonight, he wanted more than ever to sit down with Dakhil by the fire in his hut and simply play a game of snap.

"_Something troubles you,"_ said Dakhil.

A blur across the sky, Draco swooped away from Dakhil down to their small hut and transformed back into wizard form. His tongue swiping across the two small fangs that remained the only clue to his true identity, he took his robes off the hook by the door and slipped them on. He opened the door, only to find Dakhil inside, preparing something on the stove. Draco looked behind him and then back at Dakhil.

"How did you do that?" he asked with surprise.

"It will take many years for me to teach you everything you need to learn," answered Dakhil. He smacked his lips. "All that flying makes me hungry. As I have said, it is best to stay fed… lest we lose ourselves to our lusts." Dakhil flashed Draco a reproachful glance, reminding him of an error he had made just two nights before.

"I said I was sorry," Draco exclaimed. "I told you that I'd pay for—"

"Money will not bring back their father."

Without another word, Draco flopped down on the couch in front of the fire. He did not feel like having this argument again.

The young wizard watched the red embers glow in the fireplace. He no longer feared fire; just the opposite, daily he was growing more intrigued by fire and by dragons. And, while Dakhil normally answered every question Draco ever asked of him, he refused to say a single word about the dragons, or his work with them. Nor would he say what role Harry had in their secret society. Draco knew it was something powerful, something worth having. As he had done high in the sky, he held his hand in front of his face and made a fist. It seemed the fist of a child. He sighed, trying to understand this Jekyll and Hyde nature of himself. He _wanted_ Harry's power and he knew that was the very reason Dakhil would not share it with him. The old man may have taken Draco in, but he was no father – he would not give Draco everything he wanted and his rules were onerous. But Draco had come to respect him, to appreciate him, perhaps even—

"Come eat," called Dakhil with his gruff, gravely voice. "There is little time, of this I am sure."

Draco's appetite was poor and, while he took a few half-hearted bites, he spent most the time watching Dakhil eat. The old man's face was lined with deep creases and the veins shown through the thin skin of his hands. As a vampire, however, he was powerful and terrifying. Dakhil looked up and caught Draco's eyes.

"Are you going to eat? Or are you just going to pick up a couple school children on your way to Britain?" Draco ignored the sarcasm.

"Why haven't you…?" Draco searched for how to ask what he'd wanted to know all this time. "The things you've done… The things I've seen… As a vampire-wizard, you could defeat Voldemort single handed, couldn't you?" The old wizard didn't blink.

"Yes," he answered, stabbing a bit of lamb with his fork and popping it into his mouth. "But there would be another. There's always another."

"But there is no _other_ to fill your shoes, is there? Do you hate Harry? That he refused your offer to tutor him when he had the chance?"

"No. It is often the way with the most powerful of wizards. You must realize, Draco, that Harry's life is short, while yours is eternal. Does it not then make more sense to invest in turning darkness to light while there is still hope?"

"Is that what I am? Darkness?"

"So many questions," Dakhil said with a smile, but then his expression grew more sombre. "You were, Draco, but not wholly."

"And now?"

"Now? Now, I do not know. The shadows you cast move with the moon. Your choices continue to be inconsistent, even when your challenges have been small. Tonight, all that will change. Tonight—" Dakhil suddenly stopped and looked down at his right forearm. There was a mark on it, the shape of an eye, which was beginning to glow white. Draco had never seen it before, but Dakhil looked as if he had somehow expected this sudden appearance on his arm. The old wizard stood up from the table and began to walk toward the door.

He was halfway across the room when the door burst open. Instinctively, Draco drew his wand, but, seeing the intruder, stayed his hand. A short, elderly woman with black hair stood in the frame of the doorway. She looked familiar, but Draco could not place the face.

"Soseh!" said Dakhil with a slight bow. "What a pleasant surprise. Mrs. Darbinyan may I introduce you to Mr. Draco Malfoy?" Soseh entered, keeping her eyes on Draco the whole time. Her gaze was neither warm, nor welcoming.

"So, _this_ is the boy, Dakhil?"

"Yes."

"Gabriella has spoken of him. Do you think it wise—"

"You're the seer, my dear," interrupted Dakhil. "You tell me."

She stepped toward Draco. "Give me your hand, child." She reached forward, but Draco stepped back, pulling his hand away. She stopped and turned toward Dakhil. "You realize that they've called you."

"Yes."

"Then why are you still here?"

Dakhil did not respond, but his eyes betrayed conflict.

"The attack at Hogwarts has begun. It has been an age since last I saw such darkness amass at one place. You knew of this night. You could be there already, but I find you here, having dinner with this… this…" She shook her head. "You know… H— our Primate has brought the dragons to defend the mountains, but with such a chance to wipe so much darkness from the face of the world…" She trembled slightly. "If we do not temper his response, you know what Singehorn and Ti-Lung will do, regardless the lives lost."

"And _your_ boy?" said Dakhil with a bit of a sardonic sneer. "The one who decimated a dozen hectares in Greece… our Primate… What will he do? Is he also ready as ever to wipe the slate clean? To demonstrate to all his _true_ power?"

"The question is not where _he_ is," replied Soseh, fire building in her eyes. "The question is why you're not now at his side?" She took Dakhil by the wrist and her finger pressed upon the glow of his forearm. "You… have… been… summoned."

Dakhil's eyes, thin slits, shot toward Draco and then back to Soseh. A warm smile broke out across his face. He hugged her and kissed her forehead. "Draco, if you wish to truly know the answers to your questions, do as Soseh says. There are none more wise than the woman here before you." Dakhil slipped out his wand. "If only I were a few centuries younger…"

"And a few pounds heavier," added Soseh warmly. "You don't eat nearly enough."

"And your werewolf friend does, I suppose?" asked Dakhil with a wink. He began to spin and, in a whirlwind, disappeared into the earth below. After he had vanished, Soseh let out a long sigh and wiped tears from her face. She turned toward Draco; the warmth in her eyes had vanished.

"Now, child," she said, only now the tone in her voice was far more ominous. "Give me your hand."

* * *

"Are you getting this?" The picture jarred to the right, then steadied.

"Yes, Colin," said the announcer. "Everything's coming in fine. Do be careful." He cleared his throat nervously. "Witches and Wizards, as you can see… our worst fears have been realized. An attack of legendary proportion in now underway in Hogsmeade. Rest assured; the Ministry has the situation well in hand and are already prepared to—_ Oh my_…. In Merlin's name, what are those creatures?"

"I don't know," called back Colin Creevey, his voice breathless from running. "People… wizards… I can't tell. They don't have wands. All they want to do is destroy and there are only a few wizards here that know how to bring them down. Stunners don't seem to have any effect. They just fall down and rise back up again." The picture jerked again as a blast of green light jetted across the frame. "Whew, that was close." He chuckled nervously. "Erm… there are dozens upon dozens of them. I overheard one of the professors from Hogwarts call them inferior. They don't look very inferior to me."

"Inferi," whispered Hermione.

"What?" asked Ron.

"Those poor people," answered Hermione pointing to the animated figures projected by the wireless in the great cavern. "They're Inferi – people killed by a Dark wizard and then brought back to do their bidding." She shuddered. "How many have they murdered on their way here?"

"Like pawns on a chessboard," said Ron, holding Hermione's hand.

There was a collective gasp in the great hall as a fantastic fireball filled their view. You could feel the heat. Someone, from behind the lens of Colin's camera, had cast an enormous firespell. Flaming corpses scattered everywhere, many falling to the ground and turning to cinder.

"Wicked," whispered Ron.

It was a horrific scene as the few remaining animated bodies ran into Hogsmeade structures, lighting them on fire. In a matter of minutes, most the shops in town were in flames.

"I can't stay here," said Harry weakly. "I've got to go." He was standing, held in Gabriella's arms, or more accurately, being held up by Gabriella's arms.

"Harry, you can't," she said. "Maybe thirty minutes more, just till you get your bearings."

"The town will be gone in thirty minutes."

Hermione stepped over to bolster Gabriella's position. "Nearly every wizard in the region is out there right now, Harry," she said. "Hundreds have come from around the world to fight the darkness descending upon Britain. The Aurors… the professors… they can handle it." After a moment's hesitation, Harry nodded reaching his hand toward the arm of a chair so that he might sit down.

Suddenly, the whole cavern shook. Dust and bits of rock fell from the ceiling.

Colin's voice could be heard calling out, "Giants! To the west, giants! Those can't be ours… ours are… erm, that's top secret." His camera swung around and, after a moment, focused in on about a dozen enormous giants, towering over the train station. Each carried a club and they strode forth crashing through the station as if it were made of twigs. There were streaks of light raining down on them from on high. "There… do you see them, Smitty?" Colin called to the announcer. "On their brooms."

More jets of light struck one of the lead giants and he fell to the ground, roaring in agony. There had to be two dozen or more wizards flying by broomstick. There was a flash of someone's robes, black and white.

"That's a Magpie!" cried Ron. "There's another! Crimey it's the whole bloody team!" Without another word, he hugged Hermione tightly in his arms.

"I- I- erm… stay safe," he muttered. Then he turned and began to run out of the great cavern.

"Where are you going?" she asked, quickly following behind.

"To get my broom!"

"Ron!" She ran after him, the two disappearing down the corridor that led to the secret entrance of the castle. Harry groaned.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. "She was nearly dead an hour ago. I'll bet a galleon to a knut she'll be firing spells in Hogsmeade in less than an hour from now."

"Well, she is a Gryffindor, after all," said Gabriella warmly, stroking the side of Harry's head. Harry tried to sit up, the small motion made the room tip on one side.

"I don't understand it," he gasped. "It's never been like this before. Has the stone lost its power?"

"You've never walked so close to the abyss before, Harry. You heard the Healer; she was beyond hope. If but a few moments more had passed, we would have lost her." Gabriella's eyes furled. "We would have lost you both." She kissed his forehead. "Rest, just a little while longer."

Her voice was warm, and her touch soothing. Harry's eyes closed and he began to lower his head against the back of the chair, when the whisperer returned.

"_She, who you love, is soon lost."_

He froze opening his eyes wide, only to see his love looking back at him with warmth and compassion. A chill ran down his spine like never before.

"They're talking to you again. Aren't they?" she asked.

He had told her of the voices, the voices that he could hear before death came, voices that followed him since Greg Goyle had nearly killed him on his broom, voices that whispered in his ear since the day he once crossed over, the day Dumbledore risked his own life to save him. The ghosts said a little piece of him had died that day. Sensing his feelings and knowing the events playing out, she knew what was wrong. She always knew his heart, sometimes before he knew it himself.

"There's death all around, Harry. Of course they're telling you about it. Many will die tonight. Many already have."

Harry held her shoulder and lifted himself to his feet. "This is different," he said nervously, for it _was_ different. He'd never been told about individuals – never been told specifics. It was always, _soon_, or _tonight._ Why suddenly now was he being given a mini prophecy? How had things changed? "I… I can't wait here. I've got to fight. They can't reach you."

"You're speaking gibberish. No one can reach us down here. Ten minutes, Harry," she pleaded. "Just ten more minutes."

He shook his head to clear his mind and tried to straighten his robes. He gathered in a long deep breath and let it out slowly. There was another gasp from those gathered around the wireless. Something exploded on camera, sending debris into the room.

"Bit close for comfort," he could hear Colin broadcasting. "I've never seen so much wandfire. Wizards are starting to find it difficult to Apparate. I'm pulling back to the lake while I can."

"Promise me you'll stay here," Harry said emphatically, pointing at the ground. "Right here."

"Sure, if you stay here with me," she answered.

"I can't. You know I can't. I have to stop this before… before it's too late."

"Jamie's safe, Harry. They both are."

"That… that's not what I'm talking about and you know it." Harry slowly shook his head. "I won't have more die on my account." Suddenly, his face got all screwed up and his eyes became accusatory slits. "You did burn Voldemort's robes, didn't you? Talisan torched them with all she could?" There was the briefest hesitation before Gabriella answered.

"I told you I would, Harry," she answered smoothly. "I've never seen Talisan's breath burn brighter."

"Good," he said, nodding to himself. "Good. One less thing to worry about."

He began to walk away, weaving his way down the corridor that led to the forest entrance. He was so week, so unsteady, that Gabriella was able to get in front of him and, walking backwards, she tried to convince him to stay.

"You know… I could push you over with a feather!" she cried. "This is suicide! Are you crazy?"

Harry's eyes were glazed and just looked passed her. "Yes."

"What good does it do anybody, if you go and get _yourself_ killed?"

He remained silent, pressing forward, clutching at the stones on the cavern wall every now and then for support. It took some time before they made it to the outer perimeter and passed through the hidden entrance. In that time, his strength began to return. His balance was steadier and, at least, the ground had stopped shifting beneath his feet. Gabriella still paced in circles about him and there was nothing he could say to stop her. Finally, they stepped out into the forest and both were surprised by the level of light. Ebyrth raged above and, just above the horizon, the full moon shone bright. Harry grabbed her by the shoulders.

"You swore you wouldn't follow me!"

"I haven't been! I've been one step in front of you the whole time!"

"You have to go back to the caverns. You can't come with me!" he snapped. "So help me, if you… I'll…"

"I'd like to see you try!"

There was a crack, a rustling of leaves. Gabriella didn't notice, but Harry did. Quickly his head turned toward the sound and, instinctively, his mind reached out. There were four Centaurs moving quickly in their direction. Two, Harry knew at once; one was Ronan. A moment later they were at Harry's side – an energy and nervousness in their demeanour that Harry had not seen since he first stepped into these woods. He placed his fist over his chest and bowed.

"Ronan," he said solemnly. "What news?" The Centaur was flanked by Shahan and two others that Harry did not know. He was certain they were new to the herd. All returned Harry's bow, all but Shahan who deliberately took a step back so the others would not notice his breach of etiquette.

Ronan stepped toward Harry and Gabriella. "The hour is near at hand, Harry Potter," he said. He glanced again to the night sky and Harry followed his gaze, trying to decipher for himself what it was they were looking at. There was something hopeful, he thought, in that the glowing night sky diminished the red planet. Perhaps it was an omen. Harry said as much, but Ronan pointed toward Hogsmeade. The town was on fire and the billowing smoke was floating over the forest, blanketing the sky.

"You let the veil of smoke cloud your vision," said one of the other Centaurs.

"One does not need to look to the stars to see that there is a devil among us!" snapped Shahan. "Behold! Even as we speak, his minions gather."

Harry wondered what he was talking about, but only for a moment. A number of ghosts began to swirl about, shimmers of light fading into and about the trees and canopy of the forest. Men, women and children, all walking dead. Not Inferi, but rather unbound souls trapped here on their own accord, with the free will to do all they wished save for one thing. They could not return to the light.

"They whisper his name!" said Shahan, pointing his finger at Harry.

"Ronan," said Harry, "they follow me, because they believe I can deliver them to… Merlin, I don't know where. Heaven, I guess. They're waiting for the birth of a new sun. It's rubbish!"

The look on Ronan's eyes was anything but dismissive. His front hoof pawed at the earth and he turned to consider the swirling spirits. He was about to say something when the forth Centaur spoke out.

"They are not the only troubling signs," he said. "More dragons continue to assemble on the northern mountains; more than you had originally told us of. You say they follow you, but they seem impatient, wishing to join battle."

"I've told them to guard that pass," said Harry, "however impenetrable it might appear to be. The dragons and I are of one mind in this regard; you have my word. They will not join the battle of wizards who now all fight upon the front lines in Hogsmeade."

"Then it is as I have said!" cried Shahan, glaring at Ronan as if to prove a previously argued point, his eyes wide and defiant. "Our time is at hand! No one now guards the castle. Ronan, it is our chance to regain what was taken from us! To take back that which was ours before these pests invaded. To control the magic of the forest for ourselves!"

"Control?" yelled Ronan. Harry had never seen him yell like this before. "Are you so arrogant that you believe you have any hope of controlling this forest? You have as much hope as standing upon the highest hill that you might touch the lowest star."

"Do you not see what is happening?" retorted Shahan. "The signs?" There was a long pause – no one spoke. "You know of what I speak, Ronan. Tell your precious colt who Mars really is." Shahan stepped forward, between the other Centaurs and came before Harry.

"Mars is not some half-wraith of a wizard, struggling to bring himself back to life. Mars holds the power to destroy us all. When he swallows Ebyrth we will all be decimated. Who, Harry Potter, holds such power? Who would swallow it?" He drew an arrow from his quiver. "Or have you not already?" Shahan held the arrow in his hand and pointed it at the Stone of Cinnabar hidden in Harry's chest.

"YOU are Mars, Harry Potter. YOU, holding the stone of blood, have come to destroy us all!"

Shahan lunged forward, his arrow pointed straight at Harry's heart. Before Harry could react, a shield of shimmering light suddenly appeared. The arrow struck it and snapped in Shahan's hand. Harry stepped back only to discover three ghosts had appeared between him and his attacker.

"That's not possible," whispered Harry. He reached out and touched them. They were substantive, solid, but in the next instant they faded into smoke and disappeared.

"Shahan!" yelled Ronan. "Have you lost your senses?"

Shahan's eyes were on fire, his teeth grinding so loudly they all could hear. He was ready to strike again, when a tremendous screech came from overhead. Harry looked up, half expecting to find a dragon, but instead there were a dozen spirits, diving down to attack. Shahan considered them for a moment and then turned and ran, disappearing into the dense foliage, the spirits chasing him the whole way.

"Ronan," said Harry apprehensively, "is what he said true. Am _I_ Mars? Is that what you believe?" He looked at the others. "Is that what you all believe?"

"What I know," said Ronan, stepping forward, "is that _you_ are the Chosen. As for your purpose…" His eyes lifted toward the heavens. "We will know soon."

Ronan looked at his companions. "Come, let us find him before he is lost to us forever." In a blur they were gone.

For a moment, Harry wanted to follow, to find out more, but then Gabriella took his hand and reached about his waist.

"C- Come on, Harry," she stammered, her voice strangely unsteady and shaky.

In all the commotion, he'd completely forgotten about her apprehension, her fear of Centaurs, of the vision that foretold her death. Harry was certain that Shahan's actions did not go far to dispel those fears. She pulled him back toward the entrance of the caverns.

"Let's go inside," she said, preparing to re-open the secret door.

"I can't. I have to do what I can."

He could see fear in her eyes, but now, looking more deeply into the pools of black, he wasn't sure the cause. Perhaps Centaurs; perhaps something more… What, _exactly_, was she afraid of?

"I'm not a monster," he said quietly, almost unsure himself. "I… I've learned. I swear. I understand now."

She reached her arms about him and held him close, resting her head upon his shoulder.

"I'm cold."

He stroked her back. "It's okay," he whispered. "I promise. I—"

It _was_ cold – suddenly cold, as if an icy wind had just appeared from the north. It was a bad stench, from a garbage pit in which Harry had grown accustomed to working.

"_Dementors__,"_ he hissed.

He turned, brandishing his wand. Overhead, one Dementor after another passed above the trees, headed toward Hogsmeade. There were dozens. They had circled around and were going to come in from behind on the wizards protecting Hogwarts.

"I can't blast them," said Harry, cursing. "They're too bloody high." He shot a patronus upward, but it faded too soon. The Dementors took no notice, or if they did, they ignored the threat in preference to their primary mission.

"The dragons," he whispered.

"Harry… no," cautioned Gabriella. "Keep them away from the fight. You have to understand… Singehorn… You can't."

Harry wasn't sure what to do. "I have to warn them, Gabriella. I have to. Please, go inside."

"But—"

"Go inside!" Clutching his wand tightly, he kissed her squarely on the lips. "I promise… I won't—"

There was an incredible flash of light that filled the sky. Not fire… more like lightening. There were screeches and then the night lit up again with explosions, almost like fireworks. Someone was casting a spell above the treetops. The second time, Harry heard it.

"_Siad Adumai!"_

Again the air filled with light, followed by screams and then an explosion of multi-coloured sparkles.

"Ron?" Harry muttered to himself. A dark figure with great wings swept across the sky. It was so large, as it passed in front of the moon, Harry thought briefly that it might be a dragon. There was another flurry of spells followed by fireworks. Then, everything fell silent. Harry was going to say something to Gabriella when a great gust of wind swirled about them and, only a few yards in front of the couple, there appeared Dakhil Barghouti, wearing dark robes and smoking a cigar.

He stepped toward them, took in a long draft on his Cuban import which flamed orange, and let out a long billowing plume of smoke. Smiling, he gave Gabriella a hug.

"Hello, my dear," he greeted her warmly. "I didn't expect to see you in Centaur country." He cast a scathing glance at Harry and then puffed on his cigar to gather his composure.

"I'd offer you a cigar, Potter," he said, not looking at the wizard, "but I've only got two left and I believe I'll need them both this evening."

"Was that… you?" asked Gabriella, pointing at the sky.

"Well, your mother stopped in and said that I should be here at Harry's side fighting. You know how she can be. I didn't expect to find you hiding in the trees."

"We're not hiding!" snapped Harry.

"Having tea perhaps?" said Dakhil, his words dripping with sarcasm. "Though I don't see any of those little crackers you people seem to enjoy so much."

"I'm headed to Hogsmeade right now," said Harry, his jaws clenched.

"Sure you were, er… are. And you're planning on leaving Gabriella here in the forest, alone are you?"

"Listen!" Harry yelled. "She… YOU… _Argh!_" He threw his hand out and a bolt of red light erupted from his palm cracking the trunk of a tree in two. The expense of energy dropped Harry to his knees. Gabriella fell to her own and offered him support.

"Curious," said Dakhil, stroking his chin. "You should have sustained that spell." He stepped around the two like a shark circling its prey. "Your robes are clean; you haven't been fighting. What's going on?" For the first time there was a sense of concern in his words.

"I don't understand it," said Gabriella nervously. "He should be better by now."

A ghost appeared, standing in the middle of the fallen tree. _"He has died a little more," _said the spirit with a smile. _"More of his soul is turning toward the light. It is better than I had hoped, better than any of us had hoped."_ Dozens of ghosts appeared in a large ring surrounding Harry, staring at him expectantly.

"Get away from him!" cried Gabriella as she helped Harry to his feet. The ghosts faded away. "He used the stone," she said to Dakhil, "to save Hermione Granger. I think… I think he went further than he should have."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry indignantly. "Should I have let her die?"

"No… that's not what I meant."

"I did exactly what needed to be done. And… I… I am perfectly fine!" he cried, snapping his arm from her grasp. Briefly, he remembered that he had considered joining Hermione in her walk toward the light, but he shook his head and quickly dismissed those thoughts. He walked over to Dakhil. "Keep up… if you can old man." Just as the Centaurs had done, Harry vanished in a blur towards Hogsmeade.

Gabriella gasped. "He's not ready to fight."

Dakhil took her by the shoulder. "My dearest Gabriella, he's been ready all his life. To win this battle, he doesn't need his wand. He doesn't need magic." He kissed her forehead. "Now, be a good girl. Stay in the caverns; you'll be safe there." Instantly, he transformed into a vampire and flew up above the trees, disappearing into the night, leaving Gabriella alone.

The night was still. The crickets chirped and the breeze blew lazily through the trees, rustling the leaves and, as they waved to and fro, the sound of the ocean filled the air. Gabriella closed her eyes and was transported back to the beaches of Lebanon. Wave after wave swept up onto the sandy shore, occasionally crashing with a boom upon the rocks. She could see the colours of the sunset, rippling in the waves. It was beautiful.

There was a Centaur, walking across the white sand, its dark coat wet and foamed with perspiration. He had travelled long and hard to find her. He notched an arrow in his bow, focussing on his target, slowly pulled back the string, and let if fly with a distinctive _thwang! _

Gabriella opened her eyes in horror. Her hand shaking, she pulled her wand and began to run through the forest, crying out Macleta's name. How could she have been so wrong?


	41. Betrayal

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 41**** - Betrayal**

**~~~***~~~**

A/N: For those travelling about Hogwarts in their mind and getting a bit turned around, Charles J. Mize's map in the Lexicon is how I sort of see the geography.

Both moon and comet combined to bathe the Forbidden forest in a shimmering light that flashed through openings in the forest canopy as Harry ran to join the battle of Hogsmeade. The strobing, scintillescent light pulsated – a drumbeat of energy striking Harry's eyes, amplifying the sensation of power already hanging in the air. It was an energy like none Harry had ever experienced. Each gulp of air was like breathing in sparks. It was a rain of magical force, soaking the forest floor, filling rivulets and streams, and cascading toward the forest's heart. Like the marching of spiders to Aragog in Harry's second year, the energy was running somewhere, preparing for something.

The flashing light, blindingly bright then deathly dark, was disconcerting, so Harry closed his eyes as he ran and used his second vision. He reached out his mind and discovered dozens upon dozens of Centaurs filling the forest. Milling about nervously were yet more creatures, some Harry did not recognize. None hid motionless as Harry had often seen before, resting or waiting to strike. Instead, from the smallest insect to the largest beast, they were all moving about, their auras pulsating with anger and fear. Stranger still, swirling about the forest's agitated life, were hundreds of ghosts, moving in and out of Harry's vision as if wishing to be seen and then unseen. Harry ignored them all and did not slow down until he came upon the grounds of Hogwarts.

The Quidditch pitch loomed large to his left. There was the flicker of a memory, a sharp pang in his chest, where now lay hidden the Heart of Asha. He stopped, taking in a gulp of air and placing his hand over his sternum, remembering the sudden pain, the blood pouring from his body, soaking the snowy ground. He'd been here before; he'd even flown here, but, for some reason, now he felt cold, fearful of where he stood, but longingly fascinated to relive those last dying moments. Goosebumps raced up his arms as he recalled the sensation of being torn from his body. Sir Nicholas had sensed it, had seen it. It was here that Harry had died; it was here that Dumbledore reached beyond the brink and pulled him back.

The stabbing sensation grew more intense, as if Greg Goyle's broomstick were piercing Harry's chest again. Placing his hand over his heart, Harry did not flinch. On the contrary he hoped, for a moment, that perhaps this might be it. Maybe he was about to die and a part of him, a very small part, truly wanted it to be so. _Why had he stopped Duncan from committing suicide last year? _ It all seemed so pointless. He reached into his pocket, wrapped his fingers about his wand and—

"I though this was the spot."

Harry spun. It was her – Helena, the ghost Harry had met at Sirius' castle. She shimmered as she walked gently across the grass in her bare feet toward Harry. Her smile was radiant and her eyes warm. She wore the same flowing robes as when Harry saw her in Greece and, as then, she looked regal.

"You're… you're here," he stammered. "Why?" The ghost, more beautiful and more radiant than ever, stepped over and placed her hand against Harry's face. It was warm and caressing. Harry's heart skipped, that the touch of a ghost could be anything but frigid. Still, he did not pull away; there was something powerful, drawing him toward her.

"Where is your beloved, Harry? I had heard you made amends. Why then are you not together?"

He looked back at the forest, realizing that he'd just left Gabriella alone with Dakhil. Why had he left her? Somehow, standing next to Helena, leaving Gabriella didn't seem right. He looked toward Hogsmeade. A huge pillar of smoke rose high in the night sky. The red and yellow glow from the burning town below flickered from its plumes. Every few seconds a jet of wand light would streak across the sky. Yes, the town was being attacked, but why leave his love?

"There's a… a, erm… battle… er, a war." Thoughts of death quickly fading, Harry struggled to think of why he shouldn't be with Gabriella. "The… the darkness is upon us. You… you knew it was coming." He remembered. "It's here now. I have to protect the town, my friends, the people I love."

"Such lofty ambitions, my little blind dragon," she said with a tone that was not gentle, but rather somewhat scolding. "How many women are left to grieve when their men go off to war?"

"There are women who fight this battle," countered Harry.

"There always are, Harry. There always have been." She kissed his forehead, sending a shiver down his spine, and began to float back toward the forest after letting slip a breathless sigh. "Go… go play your little game. It will not last long. Can you not feel it – the vortex of death that draws nigh?"

The moment she asked the question, whispers of death snaked about Harry's ears. Souls… many souls would pass over tonight. He suddenly grew cold and began to tremble considering the magnitude that Death was hissing into his ears. Would so many die tonight? Would he?

"I won't let it happen," he said defiantly, but Helena just smiled and waved with regal indifference.

"Soon," she said peacefully, "it will, at last, be time to sleep." Her image shimmered more brightly than the celestial battle above, and then began to wane.

"If you need us, call," she said softly as she faded to mist. "_One of us is always near, and never forget, Harry Potter… you are one of us._"

She winked and was gone. Whatever sensation of cold he had, passed into nothingness as if the whispers of death followed Helena, leaving Harry to his destiny. Harry knelt to the sod, trying to gather his bearings. He touched the grass and the earth rumbled. He jerked his hand away, wondering what he'd done, then realized that it wasn't him at all. To his left, a giant moved out across the front of Hogwarts. He was familiar, one of the giants that had attacked Hogwarts last year. One that later had helped rebuild it. Harry watched as the giant moved in behind Hagrid's hut and then sat down, a club as large as a Redwood tree clutched in his right hand. He was looking down, speaking with someone.

"Hagrid?" Harry whispered to himself. Slowly, he stepped closer and then, seeing the half-giant smoking a pipe, he was sure. "HAGRID!" He ran. The world around him froze; the air stood still. One hundred yards away… There was a rush of adrenaline pulsing through his body, an intense rush of emotion far stronger than when he saw Ron and Hermione, filling an emptiness Harry did not know he had until now. Seventy yards away… Here was someone he knew that would welcome him, no matter the darkness he had caused, no matter the swirling mist of death that followed him. Fifty yards away… It was an unconditional commitment they shared for each other. It was family; it was love. Thirty yards away… Suddenly, there was a tree where, only an instant before, none stood. The giant had swung his redwood and it was hurtling toward Harry, nearly as fast as he was hurtling toward Hagrid.

Harry leapt, higher than he had ever leapt before, holding both palms downward and casting a spell to launch himself still higher. While the immense trunk was sliding beneath him, one of its branches flew toward his head. He had to hunch his shoulders, bringing his hands up to protect his face from the tree's needles and cones. The spell holding him skyward faltered; his altitude dipped. His left foot caught on the thick bark of the trunk and it sent him flying into a fantastic aerial cartwheel. He was completely out of control and plummeting toward the ground.

_THWUMP! _

Two huge arms caught him, like two great vines of Devil's Snare, and quickly wrapped him tight. Harry's face was completely covered by Hagrid's beard, the smell of peppermint humbugs wafting from the half-giant's pockets.

"Hold on there, Brohm! Yeh lumberin' fool," called Hagrid. "No need teh swing that thing till they sound the alarm. This could be one of the students! Now then… who do we have here?"

Hagrid tried to pull Harry away, but Harry was clinging to him like an octopus. Suddenly, Hagrid realized the person he was holding was weeping.

"There… there," he said consolingly, still trying to figure out who was in his arms. "Yer safe here; that I can promise yeh. Professor Black has seen to it. Harry sniffed.

"Black?" he muttered.

"H- Harry?"

The young wizard lifted his head from beneath the bracken of Hagrid's beard. "What do you mean, _Professor_ Black?"

"HARRY!" Hagrid squeezed; Harry's back popped. Whatever part of his spine had been thrown out of alignment during his acrobatic stunt was now cracked back into submission. "I'd heard yeh were in the caverns, that yeh was hurt. Yeh know better than teh be out on a night like tonight, specially if yer injured." Hagrid held Harry out, straight armed, to see what might be wrong with him. Finding nothing obvious he set him to the ground. The earth rumbled again. The giant was pulling back his redwood tree.

"Brohm!" yelled Hagrid. "Mind yer manners. This here is Harry Potter. You remember Harry, don't yeh?" The giant's brows furrowed as he examined Harry. He smiled, then pounded the butt of his tree into the earth three times. It knocked Harry to the ground.

"Good!" said Hagrid, pleased the giant had remembered. "Now be off with yeh. Check the rest of the grounds fer Dementors and no killin' students!" The giant nodded and lumbered off, shaking the ground with each footstep and falling Harry each time he attempted to regain his stance.

"Now," continued Hagrid, "let me get yeh back to them caverns before somethin' really bad happens." He reached as if he was going to pick Harry up again.

"No! Wait!" said Harry, holding his hand out. "What's that you said… a new professor? Black?"

"Why, the new Head—" Hagrid stopped himself. "Shouln't a said that." His tongue rolled over his teeth, searching for something possibly lodged between two molars. His eyes left Harry's and roamed toward the forest. Harry knew Hagrid was going to try to evade the question.

"Erm…" he began, now picking at his fingernails. "Just a new professor, that's all."

"I thought Remus was supposed to be Headmaster."

"Well, a course yeh did. Everyone was _supposed_ to think that."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?

"Ayyy… shouldn't a said that neither."

"What _are_ you saying Hagrid," Harry pressed. "Remus has been lying to me? He isn't really the Headmaster? Why? What happened? Who is?"

Hagrid took in a deep breath and exhaled through his whiskers. "Harry, you don't know, but your father and Remus… they were two of the most pigheaded, strong willed wizards teh graduate from Hogwarts." He paused. "And the most bloody brilliant. How do yeh think yer mum and dad got past You-Know-Who three times?" He placed his arm on Harry's shoulder; Harry slumped a bit. "But there are too many Wizarding families that still believe that Black was on You-Know-Who's side. They don't care what the Daily Prophet says, or what awards Sirius has been given by the Ministry." Hagrid knelt down on the ground, coming eye level with Harry.

"Well… Professor Dumbledore wanted it teh happen this way, but Headmasters don't get teh choose their successors. That's the Minister's job, but even Arthur Weasley couldn't figure out a way teh make it stick with out a stink. It was Professor McGonagall who figured how we might make it work: Appoint a werewolf while they _search_ for a new Headmaster, he was a professor after all, well liked by most the students, and knows his way around the Dark Arts. Only temporary, of course. She knew, like we all did, that after a few months the war would come to the doorsteps of Hogwarts. And when it did we would call on Sirius to help protect the school. Folks might think he was in with You-Know-Who back in the day, but there's not a wizard around that doesn't know the power behind the name of Black. With people desperate and with the Minister's approval, everyone would agree that appointin' Sirius Headmaster teh protect the school was the right thing teh do. He'd certainly be a better pick than a werewolf."

Harry took offence. "What's wrong with a werewolf?" he snapped.

"Exactly what I said, Harry. Gentle creatures they are, if yeh know how teh handle em, but some folks don't understand creatures the way you and I do, eh?" He patted Harry on the back. Harry wasn't sure that agreeing with Hagrid on the gentleness of werewolves was exactly the point he was trying to make.

"And Sirius wasn't in with Voldemort! He was framed by Peter!"

"The point is… if we get through this night," said Hagrid, looking up at the fiery comet, "we'll have Black to thank. I've never seen such spellwork since… since… well, since Professor Dumbledore, and that's sayin' somthin'. There's nothin' that can make it onto the castle grounds; he's made sure a that." Hagrid paused and stroked his beard, seemingly impressed, or frightened by what he knew Sirius had done. He clucked his tongue. "Nothin'."

"But he never told me," complained Harry. "I've been working with him all month long, rebuilding his castle by hand – one stone at a time. I broke my back lifting those bloody rocks because he was so weak. It was hard work, so… you know… I mean… he had to rest a lot. There'd be hours I'd be out in the sun and he'd be in… resting… but that's… that's… that dog! I'll kill him!" There was a flash of anger in his words, almost as if he'd actually meant it. But he didn't… _did he?_ Harry started to scratch at his right arm. It was something else, something crawling into his skin, agitating him.

"Now Harry, there weren't supposed to be nobody that knew; there still ain't, not for a while anyway. And I still want to keep me job, see? So, let's keep mum 'bout the whole—"

_Whooomp – Woosh! Whooomp – Woosh!_

Both Harry and Hagrid looked to the sky. A dozen dragons were crossing in front of the light of the comet. There wings were dark, but still shimmering scarlet in the moon's light.

"Chinese—" Hagrid began.

"—Fireballs," Harry finished. "And three Opaleyes. There." Harry pointed. There was a faint jolt that travelled to the fingers of his right arm. He turned his forearm so that he could better see the mark upon his arm. The dragon was emitting a bluish light and its shape was moving. At first it appeared as the Hungarian Horntail, but then it looked like the marks that he had known last year, each representing one of the four houses of Hogwarts. The mark on Harry's wrist, however, the Viswa Vajra, remained dark in stark contrast to the movement of the dragon. Something was in conflict and he knew that it was coming from the dragons. He reached out his mind to speak with them, calling to the Chinese Fireball in the front. Realizing that, as he spoke, he already knew the creature's name.

"Dhajang! Hear me!" Harry called.

The rhythmic beat of the dragon's wings faltered. _"Speak with your own kind, Horntail!"_ it cried back. _"You have no power over the dragons of the east!"_

Not sure why, Harry clenched his fist, pointing the Ring of Onyx directly at the creature. "HEAR ME!" he called again, this time with insistence. He could feel his thoughts reaching out, trying to mentally pull the dragon toward him. The creature screamed; Harry stopped, realizing at once he was harming the beast.

The dragon was forced to pull down and turn toward Harry, but once Harry released him, he swung around in a great aerial roll and continued toward the mountains with his comrades. But before they had disappeared over the trees, Harry heard him say to the others, "Singehorn's words were true – the _boy_ has the ring. We know what needs be done. Destroy them all – fire and ember. Tonight, dragons regain the world!" Harry's knees went weak and he held Hagrid's arm for support.

"Enough of this talkin', Harry. Yeh need to get inside."

"That doesn't make sense," muttered Harry to himself. "Why so many? It… it can't be." He looked at his friend. "Hagrid, I could see it in his mind. More dragons, many more dragons are on their way. They… they intend to attack the town. While the most powerful magical beings in the world are tearing each other to shreds, they intend to vaporize them all."

"That's crazy, Harry. There aren't that many—"

_Whooomp – Woosh! Whooomp – Woosh! Whooomp – Woosh! Whooomp – Woosh!_

Hagrid didn't finish what he was saying. The night sky went black as more dragons, pressed toward the mountains. Each hailing from another corner of the earth, they were gathering, Harry knew, planning for the attack to come. He could stop one dragon, maybe two, but that was all. If the wizards fighting in town were to join together to defend themselves, they might repel the assault and save the town. The possibility that Death Eaters, with Voldemort as their leader, would cease fire on Harry's words alone was preposterous.

None of it made sense. As the pace of his pulse quickened, Harry felt compelled to talk to Singehorn, to find out what was happening and to stop it if he had the power. So, there at Hagrid's feet, Harry sat down in the grass, clasped his hands together as if he were arm wrestling himself and closed his eyes to meditate.

Hagrid began to say something, but Harry held his hand up and said desperately, "_Shhhh_. I need to concentrate, Hagrid. Only for a moment."

As Harry reached out his mind, calling for the dragon, he half expected that there would be no answer, that Singehorn would reject Harry's request, but it was quite the opposite. Almost immediately Harry found himself at the bottom of the great stone stairs in the middle of a vast desert plane. He looked upward, expecting to see Singehorn, the man, seated on his great crystal bench, waiting for Harry to climb the staircase. The crystal bench sparkled in the dusty sunlight, but Singehorn wasn't on it. Harry reached up and pulled himself over one large step to get a better look. Nothing. No one was—

"You won't find what you're looking for, Harry, if you always travel the same path."

Harry looked to his right and swallowed hard at the sight. There stood an enormous man wrapped in battle armour with fierce yellow eyes that flamed through his helm. Against his dark skin, the man's smile was brilliant white in a menacingly jovial sort of way. His right arm bore a great steel shield upon which was carved a scene that Harry recognized at once – it was the tapestry that Dumbledore had shown him at Hogwarts, where Asha had died and the world had been consumed by flame. In Singehorn's left hand was a golden chain. Thick links, each larger than Harry's hand, coupled together and trailed down to the ground, disappearing into the sand behind the dragon. It looked like a massive whip, yet Singehorn could flick it with ease and, if he were to flick it at Harry, it would snap him in half like a twig. But what, in the _real_ world, did all this mean? Singehorn was not a man, he was a dragon. Dragons wore no armour and they certainly didn't wield shields or chains. The dragon stepped toward Harry, the chain dragging through the sand.

"I wondered how long you'd be," he said only now his expression was more sombre. When his smile receded, Harry saw yet more scars on Singehorn's face that were not there when last they met. He also noticed a trail of blood in the sand and followed it up to see that it was dripping from the wrist that held the golden chain.

"Where are you?" Harry asked, almost impertinently.

"I'm right here, standing before you," said Singehorn, holding out his arms, drips of blood swirling down the golden chain to the sand below.

"You know what I mean!" Harry snapped. "Katana said you were in the east. Igneus travelled with you. No one would say why. And now… now, when I ask for only a few dragons to guard the northern mountain pass to Hogwarts, there are dozens of dragons… most coming from the east. I don't need to look toward the sky to know in my heart that the Hungarians are gathering, as we speak, to join them. Like the houses at Hogwarts looking to join against the darkness, so too are the dragons. But why? For what purpose? Are they here to attack the light as well? WHERE ARE YOU?"

Harry was angry. He was angry at himself for being played like a pawn in some greater chess game; angry at being betrayed by those he trusted; angry for believing that dragons could be anything but… He turned away, unwilling to carry his own thoughts to their logical conclusions, part of him still wanting to deny what he'd seen in the night sky, what he felt in his heart. It would be a battle to end all battles.

"Primate, tell me again. You sense in your heart that the Hungarians gather… as we speak?" Singehorn asked. He looked surprised, concerned, as if he feared that his great scheme had been uncovered by a mere wizard.

"You know it to be true!" Harry yelled. "Is that why I am Primate? Did you pick a _boy_ because you thought you'd fool me and the rest of the Votary?"

Singehorn began to laugh. It was deep rolling laugh. He was genuinely pleased. "I have chosen well," he rumbled.

"Then it's true!"

"Harry, in the east there raged a battle to determine our fate. For centuries my kind has fallen captive to the hands of Wizards. No more. We are not pets to be persecuted, speared and murdered. In this, our moment of triumph, we shall end the dominion of Wizards. But how, Harry? How? That is why you must help us. And you will help us… help us all realize the true dream. It is your fate. This I know, for Soseh has told me so."

"No! I won't! I won't let you—"

"All things come to an end, Harry. And, when we meet that end, we can only hope to look back on what we've done and be satisfied that we did more good than harm, that we left our charge in more noble hands." He stepped heavily toward Harry, dragging the chain behind him, but Harry jerked away. "Is it so much to love our earth more than all else? You have discovered the cleansing power of both water and fire, Harry. Use this knowledge, and you will see that—"

There was screech, like nails on a chalkboard, that filled the air, but came from nowhere. Suddenly, a gash appeared across Singehorn's breastplate and his thick blood began to ooze down.

"Well," said the dragon with an odd smile. "I am mistaken. Even here, the sands of time trickle through the hourglass, if only one grain at a time."

There was a pop. Singehorn's eyes grew wide with surprise. He coughed and blood spurted out over Harry's robes. Then his eyes narrowed, fire growing in them. He turned and roared a deafening roar and the scene filled with flame, then all was dark. Harry reached out to grab Singehorn, but instead found his arms wrapped about Hagrid. He gasped, trying to understand what had just happened. Were the dragons already attacking? Had Singehorn been stricken by a wizard?

"Hagrid… Hogsmeade… we have to get to Hogsmeade. The dragons… I think they're attacking."

"Harry," Hagrid said with concern, pulling the young wizard to his feet, "you're speakin' gibberish. The dragons are flying toward the mountains, not Hogsmeade. What happened?"

Harry was dizzy; somehow unsure of himself. He was sworn to defend the dragons, but he would not put his friends, his family in harms way. There was an inner turmoil swirling within his soul. _How was this possible?_ Whatever moral compass he held true to was spinning wildly. He seemed to mutter to himself, walking toward the front gates that led to Hogsmeade, but staggering along the way.

"How many, Hagrid? How many are fighting now… in town?"

"One thousand… maybe two," Hagrid answered, pulling on his beard.

"Total?" Harry asked hopefully.

"That's just on our side, Harry. Word is there's that much already in town and twice again as much marching in from the south. They're a ragtag bunch, most not a match fer trained wizards, but as soon as yeh mow down one line, another comes up from behind. We could sure use some help. I've asked, but the Centaurs won't leave the forest teh help. They're waitin', fer what I don't know, but somethin's afoot."

"Two thousand… maybe more," said Harry, defeated. "Everyone's so focussed on their enemy they can't see, they won't see, the real threat. If they keep fighting…" He shuddered, thinking of the consequences. "If the dragons attack as one, silently, swiftly, there's no way anyone can survive. The whole town and everyone in it will be vaporized. We have to warn them!"

"Dragons?" said Hagrid sceptically, looking back over his shoulder to where he'd seen the creatures fly. "I think yeh need teh lay down, Harry." He put his hand on Harry's shoulder and the young wizard pulled away, just as he had done with Singehorn.

"I have to make them understand!" he yelled.

"Harry, it might as well be trench warfare. They're battlin' fer their lives. You'd be hard pressed teh get close enough teh anyone fer them teh hear yeh. And if they did, they wouldn't believe a word comin' from yer mouth. I never heard of dragons bandin' together like that."

Hagrid was right. At best he might convince some on his own side of the danger, but not all. And the few that listened wouldn't just apparate away and give up the town. _Maybe McGonagal, _he thought hopefully, but then he sighed. When did she ever listen? _Maybe Remus_… Harry looked up at the full moon realizing the Remus would be of no help on this night.

"I have to do something!" Harry cried out in frustration, almost to the point of tears.

He passed the front gates of Hogwarts with Hagrid just behind him. There was a loud clang as the locks fell into place, sealing the gates shut. Harry noticed at once that the power, the palpable energy that had been in the air was no longer there. It was as if someone had suddenly sucked away all the moisture in the air on a humid day.

"Did you feel that?" Harry asked Hagrid. "It's gone."

"Feel what?" Hagrid asked, looking about to see if there was some danger nearby.

"The magical rain," spoke a voice from the darkness in front of them.

"Sirius?" asked Harry, pulling his wand to the ready, unwilling to trust anything, or anyone tonight. "Lumos!"

The light was intense and bathed the surrounding area with its glow. Some ten meters in front of them stood Sirius Black and Ginny Weasley. If it hadn't been for Ginny, Harry might have blasted Sirius just for the hell of it.

"What are you—"

Before Harry could finish, Ginny had cried out his name, run over and wrapped him in her arms, kissing his neck and squeezing him so tight he could feel the Stone of Cinnabar push up against his ribs.

"You're okay!" she declared, almost as if asking a question, holding him out and looking him up and down. Harry tried to say something, but before he spoke, Ginny stuck her thumbs in his mouth, pushing up his lips, looking for signs that he might have been turned by Draco's venom. "Thank, Merlin," she said with a sigh.

"I tried to tell you," said Sirius.

"As if I could believe anything after tonight!" Ginny snapped. She put on her best imitation of Sirius… _"Guard the gates, Ginny. Tell me if you see anything unusual. _You don't think dozens of dragons flying overhead is unusual?_"_

"Not if the Primate of the Votary has summoned them." Sirius smiled as he looked at Harry, which only made the young wizard's heart sink further. "I can't think of a more powerful ally than—"

"Sirius," Harry interrupted and, leaving questions about the Headmaster of Hogwarts for later, he told his godfather why the dragons were really gathering. It was not a force to support the wizards battling against Voldemort and his minions, but rather a destructive power, hoping to destroy _both_ the brightest and the darkest in the Wizarding world in one surprise attack. After listening carefully to Harry tell what he had seen in the sky and what he'd heard from Singehorn, Sirius was still unconvinced.

"Harry, are you so certain that you're reading the signs correctly?" he asked. "The chain… maybe it wasn't a whip. Maybe it was—"

"He told me that he wanted me to help them end the dominion of wizards! They're going to attack, Sirius. We have to clear the town! Everyone needs to disapparate away."

"That's impossible," said Ginny. "Even if we wanted to, there are too many to convince and too little time."

"Then move them," Harry suggested. "Pull everyone to the lake."

"If we left our defences to cross the lake in boats," said Sirius coolly, "we'd be slaughtered."

"Too bad the lake's not frozen," said Hagrid. "They could apparate across… at least most the way… until they got close to the school."

This idea intrigued Sirius. "It might be possible to freeze the surface. That would give them something to stand on when they got near the shore, but it wouldn't get them to safety, not quite. They'd be out in the open for longer than I'd care to plan for, and running the rest of the distance won't be easy on a frozen surface."

"They could use the water to protect themselves against the fire of the dragons," said Harry, hopefully.

"Dragons won't be the first threat when they're exposed in the open on the surface of a frozen lake. There's no cover and, once we get near to where we can't apparate, it will be nearly impossible to avoid a Killing Curse. With so many trying to cross at the same time, it won't be hard to hit someone. That goes for your dragons too, Harry. If there are as many trying to murder us as you say, we can't give them a free shot to swoop down and breathe fire. The Hogwarts Lake holds a lot of water, but it's not enough to shield a whole army against an onslaught like that. It might be next to the most magical place on earth, but there's nothing magical about the water of the lake."

Harry listened to Sirius' words. They were strong, knowledgeable, and correct at every level. But there was something in his tone, something tickling at the back of Harry's mind, trying to draw something to the fore. Harry had had such conversations with Professor Dumbledore. The Headmaster would state simple fact and try to get Harry to draw his own conclusions. It was hard to believe that Sirius was trying to do the same thing at time like this, but, in his heart, Harry knew that Sirius was doing just that – he was being professorial.

While Harry turned these thoughts over in his mind, Sirius turned to Hagrid and said, "My friend, please return to the forest. Warn the Centaurs that the dragons may not be our allies. They, better than most, know how to pierce a dragon's breastplate." Harry shuddered at the thought as Hagrid started back through the front gate. "Oh, and Hagrid, tell them that they may have to support the flanks of a hastily assembled retreat."

"Yes, sir," said Hagrid grimly. "Harry, Ginny, take care of yerselves. I'll be watchin' for yeh." Hagrid lumbered down the lane, returning over the path the two had just travelled, toward the Forbidden forest. As the gate swung shut it pushed out a blast of magical energy that struck Harry's face – a cool wind at the edge of a parched desert. When the door shut, the energy vanished and Harry felt parched. Sirius then turned to Ginny.

"Ginny, stay at the gate and continue to stay alert. We may have to retreat back to the school. Forgive me for dismissing your observations about the dragons."

"Remember that when I take my N.E.W.T.s," she said with a smile.

"I will, Ms. Weasley," answered Sirius with a smile and then his eyes narrowed. "Right now, I'm going to get Harry to Hogsmeade. We'll try to meet with Professor McGonagall. If you see anything at all, send me word. If there's imminent danger, you know what to do."

"Yes, Headmaster." Ginny nodded. She hugged Harry once more and whispered, "Be careful."

s

Sirius and Harry began walking briskly toward the town, keeping their eyes forward, hoping to get a better understanding of the battle before them, rather than Apparating right into the centre of the fray. Harry could feel the explosions rocking the earth beneath his feet. They were silent for the first few minutes and then Harry began to speak.

"Why didn't you—"

"Because I was told not to. And, because you never asked. I would never lie to you, Harry."

"No? So you were really just going to take naps when you left me to lift the castle stones all by myself."

"Have you ever been to a meeting at the Ministry?" Sirius asked. "Tedious chatter filled with drivel. It's all I can do not to sleep! I use my wand to spray water on my face, just to keep me awake."

"I thought you looked cleaner when you—" Harry stopped and then he muttered to himself, "Cleaner… Cleansed by both fire and… water... _The falls!_"

"Excuse me, Harry?"

"The falls." He looked at Sirius. "I know you won't believe me, but there's… there's a lake in the middle of the forest, with a great falls dropping in from overhead. It's magical. Hagrid doesn't believe it exists, but I've been there. Ron's been there." Then Harry's shoulders fell. "But you can only get to it as the sun crosses the horizon. By then, it's be too—"

"Or when the moon is full," corrected Sirius.

"What?"

"You really don't get out much at night, do you Harry? A little blessed temperament given you by your mother I suspect."

"You… You know about the falls?"

Sirius chuckled to himself. "Late one night, your father stumbled across the waters when we were creating the map. He stopped on the shores and was pulled in. The way he put it, he thought he was about to die, when the waters spoke to him and then just spit him out. Stranger still, he went in recuperating from a nasty hex, and came out blemish free. It wasn't long after, he started dating your mother.

"Some believe that those waters, Harry, are the source of Hogwarts magical mysteries. Perhaps even the Fountain of Youth. Often the Ministry approached Dumbledore, seeking to investigate the falls and streams of the Forbidden Forest, but they lie in the land of the Centaurs. Dumbledore insisted that all wizards are forbidden to travel there, which, I suppose, explains why you and Mr. Weasley have _both_ been to the water's shore." Sirius ruffled Harry's hair.

A streak of wandfire flew above the treetops and continued on over their heads. At the same time the scar on Harry's forearm began to burn. It felt as if the skin were being twisted into dozens of tiny knots, a cauldron of turmoil. It glimmered in the darkness and Sirius noticed.

"Are you being summoned," he asked.

"No. This… this is something different. It's like I'm being told to stay away." Harry glanced to the sky and then back toward Hogsmeade. The pillars of smoke rising above the town were growing larger with each passing moment. Harry was growing anxious, desperate to put meaning to everything that was happening. "I… I don't understand, Sirius!"

"Yes you do, Harry. More than I, anyway." Sirius put his arm about his godson. "Listen to your heart. What's it telling you?"

Harry looked to the ground, grinding his teeth to put the pain of his arm out of his mind. "The water… what do you think about the water at the falls? Would its purity be enough to protect us against the dragons?"

"One does not _use_ that water. If it chooses to protect us, it can. Of that I am sure. But will it choose so? That I do not know." Now it was Sirius' turn to look toward the sky. "These are the kinds of riddles Remus is good at." He sighed and then, stroking his beard, looked to Harry. "I think we should find a way to break up the battle. Pull them all out of Hogsmeade and give the dragons more than one group of wizards to strike. Merlin protect those they choose first, but the others should be rattled enough to pay attention."

"But the only way to the falls," said Harry, "is through the castle grounds. We can't give up the castle."

"All the evil and giants of Europe could strike the castle walls. They won't break. No one will harm the castle this evening, Harry. "Believe me. No one."

"Then… then we lead them right past the castle and into the forest. And the Centaurs… the Centaurs—"

"Will love having an opportunity to spill Dementor blood. All this waiting… they've been moody for months."

"Months?" asked Harry. "Aren't Centaurs always moody?"

"Yeah, well… lately they've been worse. Believe me, it takes a Headmaster to tell the difference."

Harry had to smile. His godfather really had changed. He should have noticed, but he'd been so tied up in his own thoughts that he failed to realize that his own family had been watching over him the whole time. Sirius waved his wand and a parchment appeared in his hands. He opened it and revealed the town of Hogsmeade dotted with names. There were so many, it was nearly impossible to make out who was who.

"Our forces are organized by about a dozen covens with nearly a hundred wizards each. Let's see if we can find Professor McGonagall and try to coordinate this as best we can. Three battles, I think. One on the castle grounds between Hogwarts and the lake. One near Terntalag, the city of the Centaurs, surrounded by the waters that feed the falls. And the last near the falls themselves. It's there that we'll make our stand against Voldemort. Yes… three should be enough. We'll spread about to give the dragons something to think about and draw Voldemort in to his own doom." Sirius held the map closer to Harry's wandlight. "Ah! There she is! Let's go!"

Sirius ran about twenty yards, and stopped, preparing to cast an Apparation spell. He turned to find Harry frozen, a look of horror on his face.

"Harry, come on. We need to get to McGonagall!"

Harry didn't move.

"What's wrong?" Sirius said, quickly pacing back. "Harry, why aren't you moving?"

Harry looked up at Sirius. "James," he choked. "Cho and James… they're at Terntalag. If he finds out… He won't go to the fall, Sirius. He'll go to Terntalag."

"Listen to me, son," said Sirius, his eyes meeting Harry's to offer assurance. "Voldemort has about", he looked up at the moon, "another four hours left on this planet. If we have to, we'll make him think James is hidden at the falls and by the time he figures it out, it'll be too late."

Harry looked at Sirius in disbelief. "Make him think that James is at the falls? How?"

"We have someone _very close_ to Voldemort… on the inside." Sirius paused seeing the uncertainty in Harry's eyes. "Trust me," he added.

"I've heard those words before," said Harry cynically. "Who shall betray me tonight, Sirius? Dragon? Centaur? Or Wizard?" Harry's words were sharp and biting. "I thought… I thought maybe on this one night we might realize our strength, the strength reflected in the Fountain of Magical Brethren." Harry shivered, crossing his arms and rubbing his own shoulders. "For the first time in a long time Sirius, I… I don't know what to do. I mean, it's not like I was with Singehorn. It was a vision for Merlin's sake and I've been fooled by those before." For a moment he held his godfather's eyes in his own. "Maybe you were right. I can't risk Hogwarts on something that…" He shook his head and looked up to his godfather. "A thousand wizards… I- I can't."

"Well," said Sirius smartly, "that's a pleasant surprise. The unflappable Harry Potter isn't sure what he should do. Maybe… just maybe… he might need some help. Imagine that." He put his arm about Harry. "Well, this is one decision that's not yours to make. There's a reason they call me Headmaster."

"But Jamie."

"Harry, sometimes to win, you have to give up a little ground. There's a reason Voldemort is attacking upon the light of the third full moon and it has nothing to do with Jamie. He's attacking tonight because we want him to attack tonight. The cogs of his fate were set into motion the night Dumbledore died. Sure, the dragons complicate things, but we have a way to deal with that. No, Harry, tonight, it will be the Dark Lord's turn to face Death's door, and this time we'll be ready to make sure he passes through and stays there."

Harry, staring at the burning of Hogsmeade, let the glow of his wand fade to darkness. From where they stood he could hear screams of pain and of vicious cruelty. Sirius' words were firm and held a confidence that made Harry believe, if only for a moment, that what he was saying might actually be true. Tonight, Voldemort would die. Without blinking Harry held his wand high and said, "Then what are we waiting for? Let's tell Professor McGonagall. It's time to sound the retreat."


	42. Retreat

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 4****2 – Retreat**

**~~~***~~~**

The air was dead. Not still, not stale, but lifeless and without energy. If the Forbidden Forest was filled with a fountain of power, Hogsmeade was its sinkhole. Harry felt parched when first he Apparated, as if suddenly appearing into a desert wasteland not unlike the arid air where he and Singehorn met telepathically. Plumes of smoke billowed up from nearly every building in town save two – Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and a new Hogsmeade branch of Gringotts Bank. There was so much dust and debris floating all about that it was difficult to breathe. Worse yet, it was nearly impossible to identify friend or foe as wizards and other creatures darted in and out of the sludgy air. A jet of green blasted the earth to his left, sending up a shower of rubble. Harry spun, slipped to the ground and suddenly lost his bearings. Shards of rock stabbed his knees as his chest, not yet fully healed, shuddered with pain. He raised his wand, unsure who, exactly, he was pointing it at, never mind what spell he would cast.

"Mr. Potter! You might want to focus your attention on the giant behind you."

For a moment, the fog of war parted, revealing Professor McGonagall. Her face was smudged and her robes torn; perspiration dotted her brow, but her hat was in perfect condition. He looked up and over her shoulder to discover a giant somewhat less than twenty feet tall. He prepared his wand to cast a spell, but McGonagall stepped in front of him.

"BEHIND YOU!" she bellowed as she pointed up and over his head. "That little one is fighting with Wilhelmina's coven." Harry turned, the sharp rocks crackling under his feet, and found the most massive giant he had ever seen. It towered over most of the town's buildings and seemed to delight in stomping wizards with his feet, including, it appeared, some of the Death Eaters fighting along side him. Two professors, positioned forward of Professor McGonagall, were casting spell after spell at him, but the light leaving their wands was weak and had little to no effect.

"Stupefy!" called Harry and a thin red beam of light slipped from his wand and bounced off the giant who was so busy admiring all the other lights ricocheting from his chest that he took no notice of Harry's pathetic attempt at a spell. He turned to Professor McGonagall.

"What's wrong?"

"Nature is against us, Harry. We've cast so many spells… she has pulled her energy deep. I don't think she cares much for wars. I can't say as I blame her."

The giant lifted its great foot, preparing to stomp the helpless professors trying to defeat it.

"_Tanglespin!"_ she cried. A beam of white light leapt from her wand and wrapped itself about the giant's ankle. The small giant behind her charged and struck the larger giant just as she tugged on her wand. It was the smallest twitch, but it pulled the giant off its feet. The other wizards jumped up and began to bind the giant with great ropes as two other wizards, hiding behind an old wooden fruit cart, pushed back the Death Eaters it was protecting. _Townsfolk_, Harry suspected.

"The key, Mr. Potter, is to find ways to use the smaller spells to advantage. Our enemy has yet to figure that out. I've seen two killing curses strike true; thank Merlin, with no effect."

For a moment, Harry considered joining her for battle, but quickly gathered his wits.

"Professor, we… we have to retreat," he said. "We have to lead everyone back toward Hogwarts and the forest."

"You can't be serious!" she snapped. "We can't let them past the water's edge. We won't let—" She pulled her wand. _"Expecto Patronum!"_

A blast of white shot back over Harry's shoulder. He didn't need to turn to see what it was. He could feel the cold, crawling up the backs of his legs. He focused on his happiest moment, the moment he and Gabriella joined, turned and released his stag. It was pale as it charged the collection of Dementors moving toward them.

"Professor… the dragons… they're going to attack!"

"Then it's true? They're following you? I didn't believe it possible."

"It's not. They're coming to destroy us all. They're coming to take advantage of the very weakness you spoke of. With the wizards unable to cast spells to defeat them, the dragons will incinerate every wizard they can."

A look of shock passed over Professor McGonagall's face. Unlike Harry, she had stayed awake during Professor Binns' lectures. She knew the olds tales and had even written three scrolls interpreting the tapestry that hung at the end of the hall in Hogwarts.

"When?" she breathed.

"Soon. Very soon," he answered, suddenly interested in the sky. There were shapes moving up there, but he couldn't make out what they were. Streaks of light seemed to bounce back and forth between the clouds. _ Wizards? Dementors? _He couldn't tell. He only hoped they weren't dragons._ Where was Ron? Where was Dakhil?_ There was a swoosh, Harry barely had time to react as a young wizard darted past on a broom.

"Proffessor!" he called out as he dropped a small scroll and disappeared into the darkness.

"Was that Colin?" Harry asked.

"Colin? Are you serious? Colin could never fly a broom as swiftly. That was Dennis, of course. The only way we can exchange information. The patronuses are too weak." She reached down and picked up the scroll. You know, I intend to make him Seeker next year… assuming you graduate." She snapped Harry a scowl and he wondered if she might be serious. He had missed a lot of class and— "Potter, have a go at those Dementors while I read this!"

Harry didn't have to be told twice. This time, however, he did not use a patronus. Instead, he summoned the surrounding fire. Heat. He needed only to focus the power that was already raging about them. It was, in a way, like moulding clay with a wand. Swirling… swirling… The Dementors, a half-dozen or so, closed in. "Stay back," he commanded. He could hear there voices clicking to each other, but with the power of his ring he knew they were laughing, jeering that he had no power in this dead zone.

"_Compresso!"_ he called, and the swirling flames fell in on each other, creating a great tornado of fire. The laughter ceased. There were no screams of pain; there wasn't enough time. The Dementors were incinerated. Their sudden disappearance caused the group behind them to falter in their advance.

As the acrid odour of their cindered flesh wafted toward Harry, he noticed a commotion near the docks. Some two dozen wizards were calling out and gesturing in some way, though it was too difficult to make out much through the billowing clouds of smoke and the loud reports of wand fire echoing throughout Hogsmeade. The two wizards that had been hiding behind the fruit cart jumped out and ran over to join Harry and Professor McGonagall. One was George Weasley, the other was Samilla Fendergon, the owner of Honeydukes.

A blast of red light exploded only a few yards to their right, causing George to curse furiously and return fire. Professor McGonagall, her face briefly shining from the wand fire, simply looked up over the parchment she was reading, suggested that Mr. Weasley, who was garbed in spectacularly dark robes, should find a way to distinguish himself from the enemies he was fighting, and continued to read the parchment.

Samilla, a women not much younger that Professor McGonagall, but with smooth skin and bright blue eyes had a long gash on her right shoulder which was mended, but not well. Harry used his wand close it completely and held his hand over it, removing the scar.

"I didn't take you fer a healer, Harry," she said, after thanking him for his work. "I always figured you fer a flyboy… like yer father." She smiled and Harry couldn't help but smile back. She had always had that effect on him. Maybe it was the candy, but more likely the goodness of the soul beneath those eyes. Even here, she smiled and even here she made others smile in return.

"So, Mr. Potter," said Professor McGonagall sharply as she rolled the scroll and vanished it with a wave of her wand, "you've been here less than five minutes and already we're told to give up. What in heaven's name did you do to bring the dragons down upon us?"

"Me?" Harry croaked. "I didn't—" There was more yelling down one of the streets and, this time, when Harry looked up, it was obvious word had gotten around—wizards were sounding the retreat.

"We're not giving up, Professor" said Harry. "We're just moving the battle. We can't stay clustered like this or the dragons will destroy us all. They may already be on their way."

"We've set up a strong defensive perimeter right here," Professor McGonagall asserted. "It's foolhardy to split up our strength into three separate groups, each scattered to the four winds. That's no defence; it's madness. Are you certain that the dragons are coming, Mr. Potter?"

This time George stepped forward. "Professor, it doesn't matter what Harry thinks," he said strongly, but with respect. "Sirius has been placed in charge and has given the order."

"But the Minister," said Harry questioningly. "Isn't he in charge?" He was suddenly panicked. "Fred, where's your father? Is he…."

"Dad is at the Ministry. It's also being attacked, though the numbers there are far fewer."

Harry exhaled and nodded with relief. "And Fred?"

"Without you to communicate, Remus has secluded the werewolves. He thinks it's safer."

"But Ron… he could—"

Someone overhead slipped by on a broom. "EVACUATE!" he cried. "EVACUATE! Gather the covens now!"

Harry could have sworn he heard Professor McGonagall curse under her breath. She held her wand in the air and sent out a great stream of green sparks, calling for the wizards in her coven to gather at her side. Then she turned and began to run, not toward the docks, but toward the road that led back to Hogwarts. Harry and George followed, but Samilla started to run in another direction. Harry touched her arm.

"Wait," he said. "Aren't you going with us?"

"My coven's over there," she said pointing to a fountain of yellow sparks that looked like a trail of twinkling stars, blazing through the smoky air. "My leader is Nymphadora, not Minerva. Good luck, Harry." She smiled and ran, disappearing into a fog of smoke.

"Tonks?" Harry whispered, straining to see some glimpse of her as other wizards flowed past him. He began to walk toward the yellow lights, sparkling above the docks, even as Samilla disappeared into the smoke in front of him.

"Come on, Harry!" George called, pulling his shirt collar. The delay, though small, was disastrous. Before Harry could turn, blasts of orange light struck the earth around him and George. The furthest wizard back in Professor McGonagall's coven was already some fifty yards further toward safety and still running. The ground sprouted at once – a thick bramble of Devil's Snare.

Harry pointed his wand and tried to blast it with pure light, but there was not enough energy to draw from for such a spell and his wand simply spit a sparkled red glow. There was laughter overhead. Four vampire wizards, hideous in their appearance, but each holding a wand, were chortling. George tried to cast a fire spell, but it was no use. They couldn't create it here, and they were too far from the buildings to draw on the flames roaring into the night sky.

"I always liked red," one of the vampires gurgled. Harry, wearing his ring, could understand. Desperately he looked for some way to attack.

"Wait for the plants to pin them down," said another vampire.

"George," said Harry, "don't let the vines—"

Too late. George's foot was entangled and the vine was curling up his leg.

"Well," said George with little more emotion than if he had stepped on a dog dropping in the park. "That's not good." He popped a candy into his mouth, pondering what he should do, knowing that if he struggled to break free, the vine would only work its magic all the more quickly.

Harry went to try to free him, but when he did, another vine began to wrap about his arm.

"Shouldn't have done that, mate," chided George. "I thought you knew better." The vine yanked Harry to his knees even as he tried to relax, and the movement torqued his torso sending a twinge of pain across his chest. His wound was not yet completely healed and he worried that a tearing vine might open it up yet again.

"Yeah, well, the vampires there," he nodded his head to the sky, "intend to have us for lunch, just as soon as we're properly tied down.

"Yeah, I sort of figured that. Good thing I had some garlic bread with dinner. Hopefully, I'll taste bitter when they drain me."

"Actually," said Harry, "Dakhil tells me—"

A whistling filled the air. There were screams and the vampires that had been waiting to bleed Harry and George dry all fell lifeless to the ground. Another volley whistled off in another direction, again followed by screams and thumps. For only a moment the air cleared and Harry could see the Gringotts Bank, its white marble walls reflecting the orange flames of the buildings burning about it. On the roof, a number of Goblins were manning some sort of machinery. He watched as one goblin raised and lowered his hand. One of the machines belched out a thick black smoke and more whistling filled the air.

"What are they doing?" asked Harry as the vampires hovering above vanished after another of their kind fell dead to earth. "I can't see what they're shooting?" The vine about his arm began to loosen as Harry forced himself to relax.

"Arrows, maybe," conjectured George, trying not to be nervous about the fact that there was a vine creeping its way about his neck. "But we have wizards flying out there. A stake through the heart is just as lethal for them."

"Surely they've retreated with the others by now." Still strapped down, Harry hesitated, but then asked, "Erm… Have you seen Ron?"

"No. Why?" replied George quickly. "He's not… he's not… by Morgana's mother!" He tried to pull up, but it was the wrong thing to do. The vines cinched down. He tried to speak, but only gurgled.

They didn't have much time. Harry cried for help, knowing that he might just as easily bring Death Eaters down upon them. He could hear footsteps… running, but he'd been hearing that since they called for the retreat. Slowly he pulled in another deep breath to call again, when his face was suddenly covered in dust. He had to spit. The grit tasted almost sweet… organic.

"_Incendio!" _

It wasn't much more than a spark, but whatever dust was covering George and Harry suddenly ignited into a fantastic flash of light. Harry, blinking, hurried to his feet. He went to help George and found Neville Longbottom, his clothes singed black, pulling the vines off from around the redhead's neck. George may have been appreciative, but still seemed agitated.

"We have to stop them!" George yelled, pointing at the goblins. "They're firing—" Another whistle filled the air. "Ow!" cried George, bringing his hand to his face. "I've been hit."

Neville reached down and picked up a handful of earth. "Yes… yes you have," he said, picking through the dust in his hand. "There it is." He held up a small pebble, only it was perfectly round.

"Buckshot?" Harry asked. "We used to sell it at the sporting goods store in Little Whinging."

"Kind of," answered Neville. "Imported madrona, harvested from the peaks of the Siskiyou Mountains – a red hardwood, harmless to humans, but, evidently, lethal to vampires. If Ron's flying out there George, he might get stung, but at least he won't get bit. The madrona, or arbutus menziesii, is related to the Greek—"

"Come on!" called Harry. "Herbology can wait. We need to—"

There were screams off to their right. All three of the wizards turned to see what was happening only to find that a giant had cornered some six wizards and witches and held one in his hand, considering if he should crush him or eat him. Without hesitation, Harry ran toward the attacker. He wondered if it wasn't the twin of the giant they had just felled. Nearly twenty-five feet tall, he wore only hides about his waste, revealing a back covered with deep scars and fresh gashes. He'd been hit by wand-fire, lots of it, but he was still standing as powerful as ever.

George and Neville followed behind. George called for Harry to stop, but he wasn't about to let whoever it was be crushed. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his wand, then stopped, realizing how futile such an attack would be. About thirty yards away, Harry quit running. George tried to pull him toward cover, but Harry resisted.

"Stop it," he demanded and then he froze. His fingers twiddled with the onyx ring on his finger. "Maybe," he whispered.

"Come on, Harry," George insisted, but Harry stepped toward the giant holding up his hand.

"STOP!" he called out, focussing on the giant. "PUT HIM DOWN!"

Slowly, the giant turned toward the threesome. He smiled, revealing large yellow teeth worn from eating too much rock. He spotted them and a great dribble of saliva slipped from the corner of the giant's mouth and splattered on the ground.

"Oh, yeah," said George. "That's a wonderful idea. Now _we_ get to play sweetbreads. I am so tired of everyone wanting to have me for dinner."

"PUT HIM DOWN!" Harry repeated.

The giant roared, holding his free hand to his head. Harry could sense the giant's pain as he tried to resist the power of the ring. "He's mine!" Harry heard him say. "Kill them all, we were told. Kill them all. This one is mine! What does it matter?"

"You're tired. You're hurt. Put him down, and I can make the pain go away. I can heal your wounds."

Hesitantly, the giant placed the wizard on the ground and walked toward Harry. As the earth beneath his feet rumbled, Harry watched as the group of trapped wizards gathered up their friend and ran toward safety.

"Whatever you did, Harry, erm… great," said Neville. "Now let's go." The three, facing the giant, were stepping backwards. Harry stopped.

"I told him I'd heal his wounds," said Harry.

"You what?" yelled George. "Are you crazy? He'll crush you just as soon as you've done the job."

"I know," said Harry. "But it'll give you two a chance to—"

A wall of yellow light suddenly appeared between the threesome and the giant. It was only three feet tall, but it was some forty feet across. The giant stopped, considering the barrier. Harry and his friends, unsure what was going on, began to back away.

"You think this tiny wall can stop me?" laughed the giant. He brought his right foot up and over the wall, but before it struck the earth the yellow wall exploded upward, lifting the giant high into the air and bringing him back to earth with a tremendous crash. The yellow wall disappeared and twenty individual yellow glows appeared about the giant with audible pops.

"House elves!" yelled Neville. They crawled up onto the giant's chest as their foe tried to clear his head. Holding hands in a ring, the house elves cried out a spell and at the same instant stomped their feet. It was as if the giant had been struck by a massive sledge hammer in the chest. Harry could hear as the bones shattered and the organs beneath were crushed. The moment the gruesome deed was done they vanished.

"How is that possible?" asked Harry. "There's no magic. I couldn't pull a rabbit out of a hat."

"A what?" asked George.

"A rab— never mind." He turned to run. "We need to get out of here. Come on!"

They ran down toward the docks, weaving their way though a dense collection of trees. When they finally came to a clearing where they could see the docks clearly, they found that they were too late. All the boats were gone. Four Death Eaters were trying to cast spells out over the open water, but all they could muster were collections of green and red sparks. One was cursing loudly, calling to the darkness in the sky above him.

"The gate," Neville whispered. "You've got to get to the gate."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Harry. "You're going too. Everyone needs to retreat inside the… What were you doing out there, anyway? You should have retreated with everyone else."

"I'm looking for someone," said Neville with a darkness in his expression that Harry had never seen before.

"Come on, guys," said George. "Let's head to the gate. When we get there, Neville, you can decide if you want to enter, or head back out after your quarry." Neville looked back towards Hogsmeade, hesitated, and then finally nodded in agreement.

Still curious, Harry also agreed to make a run for it. All three followed the line of trees, keeping the water's edge to their left as they made their way toward the gate. In the dark, it was difficult for George and Neville to keep their footing clear and, every so often, one or the other would trip and fall. It would have been easier to follow the path, but the way was too exposed and they weren't sure if they were still behind the enemy's line.

The smell of smoke began to recede as they continued toward Hogwarts. At last the protection of the trees came to an end. There was now only an open field that led up to the front gate, but with no flames to light their way, it was impossible to see ahead. Harry closed his eyes and reached out his mind, but that vision did not extend all the way to the gate. George and Neville were breathing heavily, perspiration dripping down their brows. If they chose to run full out to the gate, they'd have no energy left to physically fight anyone who might be waiting to greet them.

"I'll go," said Harry.

"But—" began Neville.

"Just to make sure it's safe. I can outrun anyone I come across."

"Best if you're not seen at all, Harry," said George. "Do you have the cloak?"

"I won't need the cloak," Harry answered and before George could reply Harry had left.

Running with the speed of a Centaur, he followed the water's edge, still cautious to stay off the path. He slowed as he approached the gate. A group of wizards, each holding lit torches, were gathered about the gate, but unable, it appeared, to enter. Quietly, he moved closer, trying to see if they were indeed Death Eaters. They were arguing.

"Damn it," yelled one. "This was our only job! The Dark Lord was depending on us to open the gate and it won't budge. If he finds out we've failed, he'll—"

"We haven't failed!" cried another, his voice familiar. "We just need a bit more time."

"Time! Are you dotters? Get it through your skull – whatever kindness you think he's shown you, you're not a son to him and never will be. In ten minutes…"

Harry had heard enough. The gate was blocked. They would need to find another way. He turned, now standing on the path that led to George and Neville, and ran as fast as he could. He'd gone only three paces when there was a snap; the air flashed a brilliant orange and he was suspended in mid-air, unable to move more than his head.

"We caught one of the beasts!" called someone from the gate.

"A centaur!" yelled another. "Ted, a centaur!"

The entire group, about ten Death Eaters, ran down the path, their wand drawn. In the lead was a weedy-looking wizard with dull eyes – Theodore Nott. When he saw Harry, hanging in mid-air his eye grew wide and a manic grin split across his face.

"Playing centaur, Harry?" he jibed, walking carefully about the trap. "Word was you were deep in the forest, hiding like the coward you are."

"Let me go, Nott," snapped Harry, "and I'll show you a coward."

"What's the prize for Potter's head, boys?" called Nott.

"One million galleons!"

"Dead or alive!"

Nott poked Harry in the side, sending him spinning as if caught in a spider's web. "It's a shame, Potter, you won't be alive to see the school fall," he said with a sneer. He stopped Harry, so they were eye-to-eye. "When I find Gabriella, is there anything you want her to know before I kill her as well?"

Harry spat in Nott's face.

"Oh," said Nott with an evil smile, wiping the sputum from his eye, "I'll give her that… and so much more. So much more. Good-bye Potter." He tried to hold his wand steady in Harry's face, but his hand was shaking.

"Avada Kedavra!" Nott called, triumphantly. A dim, green light sputtered from the tip of his wand and failed. He tried again and nothing happened.

"There's no magic here," said Harry softly. Nott's eyes, dark and distant, narrowed and a simmering rage began to build behind them. "Ted, put your wand down. You don't need to do this. You don't need to serve hate. Join us!"

"Join you?" yelled Nott, foam building at the corners of his mouth. "I hate you! Damn you to Hades!" He punched Harry in the face. "If it hadn't been for you and your meddling friends, he would have never come back! But now that he has, he's taken me in as his _special_ protégé. Damn you! Damn your friends! I hate you all!" He punched again and this time was joined by another Death Eater. The group closed in about Harry save one in dark robes who drew back toward the gate.

Drips of blood fell freely from a gash just below Harry's left eye. "Friends, Ted… it's all we ever have. Don't you see? These thugs aren't your friends. Hogwarts… it's our home. You could still—"

"Shut yer face, Potter!" a Death Eater yelled, jabbing Harry in the side with his fist. Nott, however, took a step backward. Suddenly, the earth rumbled – thwump… thwump!

"It's a giant!"

"Who's side?"

"Does it matter? Their bloody bonkers! Run!"

But, before anyone in a dark cloak could move, pops filled the air as a ring of yellow lights flared bright in a large circle around them – house elves.

"Shit," a Death Eater muttered, unsure if he should keep his wand drawn, or slip it away.

Harry still hung suspended in mid-air, swirling slowly one way and then back the other. As his gaze passed over the lake, he caught a glimpse of the boats landing on the far side, their passengers disembarking and disappearing into the forest. Swinging back the other way, he saw the giant, only this time he noticed a witch on the giant's shoulder. Before he could tell who it was, he began to spin back. Neville and Fred were running toward them.

The house elves began to hum. It began low and then turned into a resonating buzz, not unlike an enormous swarm of giant bees. It lasted only a few seconds and ended with them each crying "Harumph!" and slamming their feet to the earth. The soil inside the circle of house elves began to splinter and crack.

"HARUMPH!" cried the giant, gleefully imitating the tiny house elves, and he too jumped into the air and crashed down. The fissures opened wider and Death Eaters began to slip into the soil, first to their knees, then to their waists.

"Not again!" cried Nott. "Potter, tell them to stop!" He held his arm up to pull Harry down, but was unable to reach his target. Harry remained spinning in the air as if fastened to an invisible thread.

"Harry!" yelled George, ready to break through the circle of house elves.

"George, stop!" cried the witch upon the giant's shoulder. "You'll sink with the rest of them."

"Hermione?" Harry called, unable to face her directly. "Grawp?"

"Hungry," said the giant with a smile, pointing at Harry.

"No, Grawp," corrected Hermione, "That's not dinner; that's Harry. Don't worry, we'll eat later."

"Yes, eat Harry later."

"No, we'll… erm—"

Neville pushed passed George and slipped in between two house elves. He looked as if he was going to plunge in with the rest of them, but George grabbed his shirt and held him back.

"Is it him?" Neville whispered frantically. "Nott, is that you?"

"What of it Lowbottom?" said Nott with a sneer. "Looking for a little more—"

Before he could finish, Neville reached into his pocket and cast a handful of seeds over the group of Death Eaters. They scattered harmlessly all about the circle.

"Really, Neville," goaded Nott. "Is that the best you can do? Two months of empty threats and all I get is a face full of seeds?"

Neville turned to the lake and held his wand to his throat. Then he began to scream a high pitched cackle that pierced Harry's ears. It lasted only a moment when ripples in the water appeared. Lifting his head from the lake, a merman nodded knowingly and then plunged beneath the surface. An instant later the water began to roil; suddenly the giant squid breached the surface, flying high into the air, only to come crashing back down with an enormous splash. The wave rose higher and higher as it approached the lake's edge. With an enormous crash, water cascaded over all of them, sending rivulets into the crevices that held the Death Eaters captive.

"Oh… yay, Neville!" Nott derided. "You've made mud. I always knew you had it in you."

Yet, it was in that mud that the dormant seeds took life. They began to grow, weaving their way into the soil and writhing about the Death Eaters like giant nematodes. At first it seemed harmless enough; just a pot of squiggly worms, but then they began to wrap themselves about their victims, searching for ways to penetrate.

"Get 'em off!" yelled one Death Eater. Soon, he was joined by the screams of the others.

"Fishes!" cried Grawp. He jumped into the air and crashed back down. The wet soil beneath the Death Eater's feet liquefied and they began to sink. The worm-like plants continued to grow. One found an entrance into a Death Eater's throat, another made its own, tearing into the soft belly of a rather fat Death Eater. They cried out as the worms wriggled inside them, searching for good spots to deposit seeds, ensuring that their hosts remained alive. Nott was one of the last to disappear beneath the soil, a worm working its way into his left ear. And even as he sank beneath the soil, his screams and the screams of all the others could be heard, fainter and fainter, not because they were any less intense, but because they were being pulled deeper into the earth below.

"There is much work to be done," muttered an older house elf. "All the town must be cleaned." There was a pop and the house elves disappeared. The muddy circle was solid again and Harry fell from the sky and landed with a thud. His face against the earth, he could hear the pleas for help from below.

"Neville!" he yelled. "We have to get them out of there."

"Why?" whispered Neville, his hand fingering the seeds in his pocket. "So they can kill again, like Voldemort?"

"You can't just—"

"Don't lecture me, Harry!" snapped Neville. "You think this is the first night we've seen this darkness? You've been gone two months! If you'd been here… if you'd been… a friend, maybe you could understand." He held a seed out between his thumb and forefinger. "I've been nurturing these kernels for two months, Harry. Was it coincidence they were ready tonight?"

"But—"

"Guys!" cried Hermione. "We have to go! They're coming!"

Down the path another dozen Death Eaters were making their way toward them. Harry looked at them, then down to the earth still vibrating beneath his hand, then up to Neville.

"Argh!" he groaned. "Let's go!"

They all ran toward the gate. Grawp, Hermione still on his shoulder, leapt over it with ease. Harry looked at Neville questioningly, pointing at the rather extraordinary hurdle.

"_They_ can pass freely. So can we. _Them_…" he pointed at the giants down the hill, bounding their way. "They'll have to break it down."

Harry, Neville and George moved to the gate, when George caught sight of the other Death Eater that had slipped away earlier. He was cowering behind a clutch of rocks, trying to remain hidden. George held out his wand.

"Come out now, or you'll join your friends!"

From behind the rocks emerged Blaise Zabini. His black robes in tatters, his face was gaunt and his eyes filled with fear. He was on his hands and knees, crawling towards them.

"Blaise?" whispered Harry, stepping toward him.

"Harry…," came a weak reply.

Neville ran over and helped Blaise to his feet. "Here," he said offering him something that looked like a granola bar. "Take a bite. You'll feel better." Blaise took the offer, but held it in his hand, looking warily at Neville. "Go on," insisted the Gryffindor. "It won't hurt you; I swear."

George ran over and opened the gate. "We need to get him inside."

Blaise took a bite of the bar and strength began to return to his legs. Harry went over and, with Neville's help, they lifted him to his feet.

"Come on, Blaise," said Neville softly, "You're the only Slytherin worth a damn. We can't lose you."

There was a rumbling coming toward them from Hogsmeade. They didn't have much time.

"Hurry!" shouted George.

Harry and Neville just grabbed Blaise, his body still shaking, from either side and pulled him in behind the gate. Neville handed his half of the lift to George and said, "I'll seal the gate." He stepped over and, muttering an incantation that invoked Dumbledore's name, red light infused itself into the door and spread out across the wall as if electrifying the entire perimeter. Blaise fell to the ground, a flood of relief passing across his face.

"Safe," he whispered.

"No, Blaise," answered Neville. "Not yet anyway. Take another bite of that bar."

An enormous crash fell upon the wall behind them, shaking the ground beneath their feet violently. Harry turned to defend, but Neville stopped him.

"No, Harry!" yelled Neville. "You need to go. Get Blaise up to the school. Sirius will know what to do."

"You're coming with us!" Harry insisted.

"In a minute," answered Neville. "The giants… they've been enchanted. The wall won't hold long. When they get through, I intend to leave them a little surprise." He reached into his other pocket and carefully began to place seeds, this time large blue ones, in a straight row along the wall. He looked back at Harry. "I said I'll only be a minute! Run!" He kept sewing the blue seeds as quickly as he could along the perimeter.

Harry looked at Neville and then back at Blaise. "Come on," said George. "Neville, only one minute more!" Neville raised a hand that he had heard and kept on planting seeds.

Nourished by the bar Neville had given him, Blaise was feeling much better by the time he George and Harry ascended the castle steps. They were met by Sirius and a number of other witches and wizards busily making defensive arrangements. Hermione and Grawp were nowhere to be seen.

"Professor Flitwick!" called Sirius. "Is the last barrier set?"

"Yes, Headmaster," the professor replied, coming from around one of the side arches to the entranceway.

"Then we're done out here," said Sirius, slapping his hands together.

"Sirius!" shouted Harry. He was about to explain about the impending attack against the wall when an enormous explosion filled the night sky with a flash of fiery blue light. Flames, as long as a Quidditch field, roared up a hundred feet high. The earth rumbled and a shockwave of air flew past them, nearly knocking Harry to his knees. He could hear low, guttural screams coming from the south gate.

"Inside!" commanded Sirius. "Everyone inside!"

They all moved toward the castle entrance, only Harry hesitated.

"Neville," he whispered. Harry moved toward the flames, but George grabbed his robes and pulled him through the entranceway.

"He's gone, Harry. Neville's gone."


	43. Diplopia

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 4****3 - Diplopia**

**~~~***~~~**

Small flames flickered throughout the forest as she ran – lanterns and torches carried by ghosts in an unorganized procession that meandered in all directions. They were everywhere; hapless souls seemingly searching for something they knew was near but could not yet find. Gabriella had never seen so many before, each wandering as if just woken from a long slumber, the fog still clouding many of their minds. They used their ruddy lanterns to burn away the dimness with flames that burned in the night, casting a faded glow throughout the forest floor. It was a light she was thankful for. Unlike Harry, she could not see in the dark and, even though the moon shone bright, it would be difficult to find her way.

There was no path to the Centaur village of Terntalag; Centaurs never left tracks. There was no crushed grass, no broken branch, no twisted leaf to track where Centaurs travelled. They were invisible in the forest and, not knowing the exact way, her only chance was to stumble across one in hopes they would guide her. In so doing, she was forced to face her deepest fears, but she had no choice. Cho's life was at stake and, she sensed, perhaps more. In a way, the presence of the ghosts made the forest less unsettling, unlikely companions that they were. None spoke, but their faces were sanguine, confident that they would soon discover what they were looking for. Gabriella tried to hoist the same confidence upon her own brow.

"Ronan!" she cried out. "Ronan!"

She pressed forward through the trees, the occasional break in the canopy allowing the full moon to shine down upon her. In that light, her dark skin appeared white, white like the ghosts around her. Seeing her bleached hands, the way light played tricks in the dark, she cursed herself for not seeing the connection sooner. Soseh had taught her to look at life's gem from different angles, different perspectives, to hold it between thumb and forefinger examining every glint and every reflection. She paused against a tree and tried to catch her breath; perspiration wicked its way into her eye; the salt stung as she brusquely wiped it away. Maybe… maybe she was wrong. How could the very creatures Harry had entrusted to protect his son, and the mother of his son, turn and kill those he loved so dearly? Gabriella had given Cho the cloak to protect her, to keep her safe, but now she felt as if she had cursed her friend to a horrible death, a death meant for…. She couldn't let that happen. She pulled in a gulp of air, preparing to run again. The scent of the forest rushed upon her and, though she tried to fight it, the familiar smell cast her into the vision of her own death. _Or was it? _

Everything was right, the rustling of the leaves, the faint light, the musty smell of loam and pine. Only now there was no water and yet... the air dripped with energy. She took a step, unsure if this was real or a dream. The scene changed as if revealing a different facet in the jewel she was in. There, just a few paces ahead, she saw herself, face down in the soft sod. She was wearing white, Voldemort's cloak and, in her back, an arrow.

"Mama," she whispered to herself. "Mama, help me."

An unwilling voyeur of her own vision, tears began to flow down her cheeks. Was it…? Slowly, she bent down to turn over the body. She had to know. Her hands trembling, she grabbed the white cloth and pulled. Something grabbed her from behind.

"Gabriella Potter."

She spun, wand in hand, only to find herself face-to-face with a Centaur. His eyes narrowed as his hand moved toward the quiver of arrows hung over his back, but she quickly, wisely slipped the wand away.

"F-forgive me," she stuttered, realizing the vision had vanished. "I'm a bit jumpy."

"Many of the creatures in the forest are this evening," he replied, looking about the forest. "No thanks to your mate." She recognized him from Terntalag, but did not know his name. He had a dark black coat and eyes that were more severe than any Centaur she had met. Indeed, they looked almost angry.

"I have been told to guide you to Terntalag," he said in an irritated voice. "The enemy is at both our gates, these white wisps of smoke infest our woods, the world is about to end, and I must play escort to a wizard, the mate of the maker of this doom, as if I were some foal."

"What do you mean?"

"It is beyond you, witch" he said. "Follow me. It is not far."

He did not speak the rest of the way and made a point of being just fast enough that Gabriella had to run, passing through parts of the forest that were so dense that the brambles sliced at her arms and legs. She was beginning to worry that she might have been too trusting, when he said, "Through there."

She peered through the branches and saw a small fire burning in the distance. She turned to thank him, but he was gone. Walking about fifty metres, she came to a clearing – the main entrance to Terntalag. The memory of where she'd been, where she and Harry had joined, came rushing back and, for a moment, her heart lightened.

There, in front of the gate, was Macleta, the Centaur that had saved her life after Voldemort had left her body. Even by firelight, she was beautiful, bearing a silent grace that betrayed a great wisdom. Her head was turned toward the night sky, her eyes focussed on the coming comet.

"Hello, Gabriella Potter," she said in greeting and then her eyes left the sky and fell upon Gabriella. If the last Centaur was stern, Macleta was as placid as ever. A smile pursed her lips at the greeting, but it was more formality, Gabriella sensed, than true feeling of happiness. Gabriella could sense the emotions of most humans, but Centaurs were a mystery to her.

"I trust Shahan guided you safely through the forest?" asked Macleta.

"Yes, and with haste," added Gabriella, revealing the red welts upon her arms.

"My dear, you're injured."

"No matter," replied Gabriella as she stepped closer to Macleta. "I'm looking for Cho. Would you please show me to her?"

"She is not with us," Macleta replied.

"What? What happened?" called Gabriella. "Is something wrong?"

"She and the Chosen's child left some time ago."

"Left? But they were supposed to stay here, under your protection."

"It is no longer safe here."

"Not safe? Terntalag is impossible to find and, even if discovered, they could never penetrate the walls. Your city is a fortress! How could she not be safe here?"

"In a few hours Terntalag will be destroyed," replied Macleta. Her tone was even and her face expressionless. It was not a joke, but how could she possible know?

"Destroyed? How?

Macleta returned her glance toward the heavens. "Ours was a bright star in its day, a blue diamond among the heavens." She held a finger out, pointing high in the sky above. "There is red death. Soon, it will be gone altogether."

"But how does that—"

"Did you know," Macleta interrupted, "that Aries had two sons? Their names were Phobos and Deimos. They fought at their father's side, sewing fear and dread into the hearts of all those who would face him. Tonight, as does all the world, a great light challenges the would-be god. While at his side Deimos wanes, Phobos… Phobos stands bright in defiance of the intrusion.

"Last summer, as the fruit ripened in the trees, I watched as Ebyrth moved ever closer toward the red demon. Then… then I would have told you that one would be consumed by the other. Which would emerge victorious, I knew not." Macleta shifted her gaze, looking intently at Ebyrth as it neared Mars. "Tonight, I am not so sure. If Ebyrth misses, our eternal battle with the Dementors will continue. The darkness will be untouched and our homes destroyed. It will be a heavy price to pay."

"To pay? For what?" asked Gabriella.

"For the belief that Harry Potter is truly the Chosen. In my heart, I know it to be true, but there are others, equally wise, who see it as folly. Still, they will not turn against the ways of Magorian who, as I, has listened to the words of Ronan. Magorian knows the stars better than any and his eyes remain keen. He has seen us through dark times before and will do so again."

Just outside the clearing, a few feet into the trees, there was a rustling. A branch cracked and Gabriella swore she saw someone clad in black disappear into the darkness. She drew her wand.

"That won't be necessary, my child," said Macleta calmly and then she sighed. Gabriella lowered her wand, wondering if the sigh was directed towards her or the fleeting flash of black in the distant trees.

"Can you tell me where they are?" asked Gabriella, "I must find Cho and James."

"Hidden."

"What do you mean, _hidden_? Where are they?"

"Now, child, if I told you, she wouldn't be hidden, would she?"

"But I need to see her; I need to warn her."

"She is quite aware of the danger now facing us all. That is why she's hidden, as hidden as she can be."

"Macleta, forgive me, but you don't understand. The danger she faces… it's not Voldemort's minions marching toward the forest. It's…" A gust of air blew ashes into Gabriella's eyes and she closed them shielding her face from the embers with her forearm. Instantly, dark turned to light, glimmering sparkles on a deep blue canvas. It was the ocean… the beach… a Centaur drawing back an arrow… a black Centaur… "Shahan", Gabriella breathed, pulling down her arm to find the fire still burning calmly in the night air. Unceremoniously, she grabbed Macleta by the arm.

"Macleta, the danger is here." Gabriella pointed toward the trees where only moments before there had been a flash of black. "The danger is already within the forest, already beyond the gate. You must help me find Cho and Jamie! You must, before all is lost!"

High above the entrance hall of Hogwarts, the flickering light of candles floating over head shone down on the battle-weary wizards below. The familiar, golden glow made Harry feel safe at once. Hogwarts had always been home and he felt its arms wrap around him the moment he entered.

The entrance hall, however, was anything but inviting. It wasn't so much what one could see, but rather feel. Harry took a step forward and, sensing the danger, stepped backward. _Enchantments?_ He'd never really had that sort of sensation before. Not like this. He held out his hand. There was definitely an energy here, waiting to be released.

Hundred had already passed through the front doors, making their way to positions throughout the castle and into the caverns below. There was a few remaining – the leaders of the various covens, each waiting for their final orders from the Headmaster, Sirius Black. Among them were a number of professors, including McGonagall and Flitwick. An apparent whirlwind was weaving its way through the crowd and it took a moment before Harry realized it was Madame Pomfrey, trying to treat the injured as best she could. She was having trouble with a witch suffering from a particularly bad burn to the side of her face and neck. Harry stepped over, drew power from the stone and healed her. Madame Pomfrey looked up in astonishment.

"Harry… Harry Potter? Is that you?" she asked.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied with a nod.

"My goodness," she said with a mixture of gratitude and concern. "You… you're covered in soot. That'll create a rash if you don't let me "

"That will have to wait, Poppy," a voice called from behind Harry. He turned to see Sirius entering the hall from outside, shutting the doors behind him. "Harry has other things to attend to right now. Please, let's get the remaining injured to the caverns below as quickly as possible. Mr. Zabini could use some help." With the help of another wizard, Madame Pomfrey escorted Blaise, now able to walk on his own, and a handful of other wizards down to the caverns. He cast one look back at Harry before disappearing behind the crowd.

"Sirius!" snapped Professor McGonagall. "Retreat is madness. They'll overrun the school in less than an hour. We have to go out and—"

"If Harry is right about the dragons," interrupted Sirius, "then going out would not be something that I would recommend. Not yet, at least."

"The enchantments will hold, Minerva," added Professor Flitwick. "Voldemort's minions will be lucky to reach the front door."

"But—"

"Professor!" called Harry, moving quickly toward his godfather until he could hold him by the front of his robes. "Sirius… Neville and Hermione… they're still out there. Neville might be hurt. We have to—"

"Harry," said George softly, stepping to his friend's side, "Neville was right in the centre of the explosion. We felt the blast from here. There's no way anyone on the ground could have survived. And, even if he did, by now Voldemort's men have regrouped and have him."

Harry couldn't process the possibility. He'd watched as Patrick died and now… now Neville and… and maybe Hermione. Why hadn't she come to the castle? She and Grawp were first over the outer wall. He clenched his hand, feeling anger ebbing just below the surface – anger he'd not felt since last year.

"We can't lock the doors!" snapped Harry. "Her… Hermione might still try to get in."

"The doors are not locked, Harry," said Sirius calmly. "At least, not locked for those who remain friends of Hogwarts. Hogwarts will always welcome those who come to its aid. Others will find a much different reception."

Sirius raised his hands and called out interrupting the general murmur of activity. "Attack Covens! Make your way to your respective towers. Healers and assistants, tend to the injured in the caverns. If they do break our defences, we make our stand in the castle tonight! This I promise you – Hogwarts will not fall!"

There was a general cheer and Harry was surprised to see so many smiles. "_The air"_, he thought. _"There's an energy here that was absent from Hogsmeade. They're drinking it in like mead."_

Even Harry was feeling the rush of power permeate his being. It was beating back the anger and sorrow he felt about Neville and the fear he felt for Hermione. Sirius was commanding the troops; it was a side of Sirius he'd never seen, but maybe had always known was there. For a moment he could see what had attracted his father to Sirius, why they were best friends."

"Light the floo," Sirius said to George, one hand upon his shoulder. "Send word to the Ministry, to your father, that the wall has been breached. Tell him," he paused, contemplating his next words, casting a glance toward Harry before continuing. "Tell him that the dragons are not our allies. They intend to attack _all_ wizards tonight."

The groups began to disperse, each going to their appointed locations about the castle. Harry, however, couldn't pull himself from the front doors. Sirius stood at his side, answering the occasional question as the entrance hall thinned. When it had quieted, Harry placed his hands upon the front doors and turned to Sirius.

"I can't stay here," he said. "I have to go to the forest, to Terntalag. I have to find Jamie."

"Outside, you'll have no protection against the dragons, assuming they'll attack."

"They'll attack," Harry quickly responded. "But they'll be looking for large numbers of wizards." He turned the black ring upon his finger. "And I won't be defenceless. I could make my way through the caverns and—"

"Those ways will be watched, Harry."

"I could—"

"You could fly," said Sirius. Harry's eyes widened. Why hadn't he thought of it? "Sorry, no P2s, but there's an old Firebolt in my office. Take off from the window there."

"Will you watch for Neville?" Harry asked, resigned to his friend's fate. "Maybe George was wrong," he added, knowing that George was never wrong. He sighed. "The explosion _was_ tremendous."

"Perhaps too tremendous," said Sirius stroking his beard. "I don't see how the Death Eaters could muster the magic. Perhaps the dragons have already started."

Harry reached down and tried to hold his mind open, listening for Singehorn, or some other sign that might lend insight to what was happening, but all was darkness. The dragon had cut off all communication. "Perhaps… if I can find Dakhil…" Harry muttered to himself. He sighed again. His mind was addled and he couldn't seem to hold everything together.

"Harry, don't worry about the school. We'll be fine. You find your boy; help Cho and Jamie. That's all you need to worry about. Do you understand?" Harry nodded and started to walk toward the Headmaster's office.

"You'll be safe?" he asked.

This time Sirius nodded with a smile, albeit grim. "Yes Harry we'll be—"

There was a tremendous pounding on the front doors to the castle. It startled both Harry and Sirius who simultaneously drew their wands. Again – another pounding, the doors creaking from the force, but holding steady.

"I thought you said it'd be an hour before they got to the doors!" hissed Harry under his breath.

"It could be Hagrid."

"If it's Hagrid, why doesn't he just come in?"

Sirius looked at Harry. "Like I said, it could be Hagrid." He stepped closer to the door motioning Harry to do the same. "Go ahead. Open it. It's not the wood protecting us."

"I'm glad you're so confident," said Harry sarcastically, tipping his head toward Sirius' wand. "And why am I the one that has to open the door? You're the headmaster!"

There was another sharp bang at the door, followed by what could only be described as the scratching of a claw against the wood. This was followed by a long, low, angry screech that pierced both their ears.

"Sounds like a friend of yours," said Sirius slyly.

"_Riiiiight,"_ Harry said with a smirk. "I'm not the only one here that has a furry friend with claws, you know."

Sirius nodded in agreement, but still motioned Harry to the door. Harry shrugged, wrapped his hand about the door's handle and, wand at the ready, swung it open.

If it had not been for the crumple of dark blue robes dangling from the creature's enormous mouth, Harry would have struck him down, or at least tried. Standing upon the stone steps of Hogwarts was a massive vampire. It was half again as tall as Harry with shoulders twice as wide. Its hands and feet were clawed and its bat-like wings rose up and over its pointed head with a single talon at the pinnacle of each. His body was covered in bluish-green scales that shimmered in the moonlight. As Harry stepped out, the creature's eyes narrowed and it growled, its mouth full of blue cloth.

The vampire spit the bundle out of from between its teeth and tossed it like a soiled rag into Harry's arms. The weight pushed Harry backward into the entrance hall. It was a man… a wizard. _Neville?_

His face was charred, his body limp, but he was breathing.

"Sirius?" gasped Harry. "It… I think it's…" He held out his hand to heal his friend, but realized at once that there was very little wrong. He was unconscious, burned slightly, but nothing more. "He's… fine. Unconscious, but fine."

"Let me have him, Harry," said Sirius, taking Neville from his arms. "That…" he pointed at the creature, "one of ours?… A friend of yours and Dakhil's?"

"Yeah," answered Harry, not really sure.

"Well, thank him and be on your way. We haven't much time." Levitating Neville, Sirius started toward the entrance to the caverns beneath the school. "And… Harry… be careful."

"Just as careful as you will be; I promise." Harry watched until his friend and godfather disappeared into Firenze's classroom, the secret entrance to the caverns, and then turned back to the vampire. The creature growled again, this time bearing two pearly white fangs. He lumbered toward Harry, placing his arms against the doorframe. It looked as if he was flexing his pecs. If he was trying to intimidate Harry, Harry wasn't having anything to do with it. He rubbed his onyx ring with his thumb and was about to say something when he looked more closely into the vampire's eyes. They were cold, grey and full of anger… and mischief.

"Draco? Draco, where's Dakhil?"

"I risk my neck saving that twit of a friend of yours from a half-dozen Chinese Fireballs and that's the thanks I get? That's all you can say? Where's Dakhil?" He growled and slammed his fist against the door frame. The whole wall shuddered. "I should crush you right now and fly you back to Voldemort."

"You could," answered Harry, "but he doesn't want me anymore. Well, I'm not as valuable to his plan as I once was."

"Are you sure?" snapped Draco, wrapping a massive, clawed hand about Harry's throat. Harry just glared, taking Draco by the wrist, his own hand barely able to take hold. At the touch, Draco released his grasp and pulled away. Again he growled.

"Dakhil has gone to find the dragons. He thinks you're wrong."

"I wish I was, but I'm not."

"Smug as ever. Would it be so terrible for the famous Harry Potter to make a mistake?"

"I've made too many to count. Are you one? Why are you here? Sewing fear into the hearts of all those who would face your _true_ master?"

"Watching, Harry. Just watching. I watched the Inferi plunge through Hogsmeade, killing more to raise their number. I watched them be incinerated by the best wizards the Ministry has to offer, only to see the same wizards smashed by giants and sucked dry by Dementors. I watched you take down that giant and saw those house elves turn him to powder…. And then I watched those… things take Nott under the ground. I should have let Neville die for that. If he hadn't helped Blaise…"

"Draco," said Harry, awkwardly placing a hand on Draco's wing, "Neville wasn't in his right mind… he… well… war… it's turned him ugly… cruel. All the storied of gallantry and heroism, how war brings out the best in people.... They don't tell you the other half. Even if they did, I wonder if it would make a difference." Harry sighed, patting Draco's wing. "Thank you for saving him; and you're right – I am an idiot. I should have thanked you straight away. It was brave of you to risk your neck like that."

"Merlin, you babble on," drawled Draco. "I should have snuffed you out when I first saw it was you that opened the door."

"Good to see you still care, but I told you. It's not about me anymore, Draco."

The vampire scowled. It had always been about Harry. He was standing here now, a horrifically powerful vampire, all because of Harry Potter. Nott was being eaten alive because of Harry Potter. Voldemort was about to control the world because of—

"The cloak… where's the cloak?" demanded Draco suddenly. Here, in the end, was how it all started.

"Destroyed," answered Harry calmly. "It's nothing but ashes."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"You smug son-of-a-bitch. The dragons… now this? You don't think that he could sense its absence?" Draco spun and faced the forest. "He'd know if it wasn't' here. Why do you think he's moving his army here?" He spun back on Harry. "Where's the cloak?"

For a moment, Harry hesitated, unsure of the true motives behind the vampire mask.

"I told you, Draco," said Harry coolly, "It's destroyed. Voldemort… he doesn't want the cloak, he wants my son."

"Don't you get it, Harry? The air of Hogsmeade is lifeless, yet here… here near the forest there's power. If you'd open that empty shell of a brain of yours, you'd see; you'd sense… the cloak is near. We had a deal! Now tell me where it is!"

Draco's words were unsettling. The cloak was destroyed on Singehorn's mountain. Gabriella said that Talisan had incinerated it. He paused. No. Gabriella said that Talisan had done her best. A cold shiver weaved its way about Harry's spine. Believing in his heart she wouldn't lie to him, he tried to recall her exact words.

"_I've never seen Talisan's breath burn brighter."_

"Damn," Harry cursed. "Damn it to Hades!" He turned toward the vampire. "Tell me Draco," he said, "If you've been watching, have you seen her? Have you seen Gabriella?" The vampire roared and at the same moment the sky over Hogsmeade burst into a ball of fire. The dragons were attacking the town. Screams filled the air. Refusing to answer Harry's question, Draco turned to leave. Harry understood why, but had to know something more.

"Draco!" Harry called. "You say we had a deal. That goes both ways! For whom do you fight?"

Without turning Draco looked down at the ground and answered without hesitation. "Tonight? Tonight I fight for Dakhil and, though they still deny me, I fight for the Votary."

"Then you fight for me," Harry asserted. Draco turned, his eyes keen, but sad.

"Potter, you're as dense as Luna Lovegood. I've always fought for you."

Draco unfurled his wings. "Find the cloak, Harry, and destroy it before it's too late," he growled. "And keep an eye on Blaise. Make sure he stays safe." With a tremendous _woosh_, he leapt into the air and disappeared in the night sky.

Harry watched as Draco disappeared into the stars overhead and then his attention turned toward the castle grounds. So far, they were secure. The fires of Hogsmeade were dying down. Perhaps there was nothing left to burn. If so, then why weren't the Fireballs attacking the school? He closed the door and headed to the Headmaster's office. Harry had some flying of his own to do.


	44. Flight to the Falls

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 44 – Flight to the Falls**

**~~~***~~~**

Riding high upon Grawp's left shoulder, Hermione looked up to see a large, green dragon swooping down toward her. _Common Welsh_, she thought. She and Grawp had just leapt over the wall surrounding Hogwarts and were bounding, much to Hermione's irritation, toward the Forbidden Forest. She had told Grawp to head _home_, but what she had meant was Hogwarts Castle. Grawp instead took that to mean _Forbidden Forest_. She was trying to convince him to turn around when the dragon flew past the full moon, casting a sudden shadow that turned her head upward. Its bat-like wings seemed to fill the sky, its eyes were on fire and its teeth flickered white, curling upward in something that resembled a smile. It had seen them and its sudden arc in the sky suggested that it was here to greet them warmly, very warmly.

She was certain that in few moments both she and Grawp would be consumed in a giant fireball, so she pulled her wand preparing to cast a shield charm and wondering if it would withstand the dragon's breath. In contrast to Hogsmeade, the air here was charged. Rolling her wand in her fingers, she could sense its power. So much power in fact that she began to dismiss the idea of a shield charm in favour of attack. Yes… she would defeat the beast! But a voice inside said, _"Are you crazy! It'd take three wizards at least to take on an adult dragon out in the open!"_ She shook her head, pulling in a deep breath and coming to her senses.

"Hurry Grawp!" she yelled, not really caring which direction he was headed. Anywhere was better and the forest, at least, would offer some sort of cover. "Run!"

Grawp responded, but so too did the Welsh Green. Closer… closer… she could hear the beating of its wings heavy in the air. The dragon's mouth began to open. He was about to blow! Hermione focused her attention upward, raising her wand high above her head.

"_Proteg__—"_

She was struck broadside in the chest, her lungs collapsing as the air burst through her lips. The force had ripped her from Grawp's shoulder and the giant cried out. She was airborne, her legs dangling freely as the ground and dragon fell away, as if she were being pulled by a giant tether high up into the sky. She was surprised; Grawp was surprised; the dragon was surprised. He was about to follow, when he noticed another wizard dressed in blue over by the front gate – easier prey. Hermione tried to call out Neville's name to warn him, but the air had been knocked out of her and she was far too far away to be heard.

"Hold on!" a voice yelled and she was suddenly turning about in a large arc, unable to see what was becoming of Neville.

"Ron?" she squeaked. "Ron. Neville." She pointed back over her left shoulder almost in the direction they were now headed.

"Swing your leg over," Ron yelled again, trying to pull Hermione high enough to climb onto his broom. She was swinging wildly and missing.

With each swing and miss she would say, "We have to… get Neville," not noticing that they were moving farther into the forest, not toward the gate. Finally, she hooked a heel and swung up onto the broom, grabbing tightly to Ron's waist; the broom's gripping charms took hold. Ron shook his freed arm, trying to regain some sensation. Hermione, instinctively, held one hand to her belly and tried to regain her breath.

"For a bit there, I thought I was going to drop you," he said, nosing down on the broom and forcing it to pick up speed.

"Ron," Hermione called, "Neville's at the gate; we have to—" A giant flash filled the night sky followed by an enormous boom. Hermione looked back to see a huge fireball rising upward from where Neville was. "Neville!" she cried. It was clear that the dragon had struck. Nothing could have survived.

"Ron! Why didn't you go back?" She slapped him on the back.

"The broom wouldn't hold the three of us," he said grimly, holding steadfast to his present course.

"We could have fought!"

Ron did not reply, but she felt his shoulders slump. No… no they couldn't have, not that near the front gate. The magic there was too thin. They would have all been incinerated. She began to cry. "What was he doing there, anyway? He should have been with Harry, headed to the castle." She paused. "You don't think… Harry too?"

"That explosion… that was more than dragonfire," said Ron. "And it wasn't one of Sirius' traps."

"We need to tell the others. We need to see if Harry's okay. We need to go to the castle and—"

"We need to follow orders," Ron interrupted. The broom veered slightly to the right, heading deeper toward the heart of the forest. "Our coven is meeting at Terntalag. We need to…" He paused, twisting the shaft of the broom in his hands. "We need to _regroup_ there."

Somehow, to Hermione, Ron's words were out of place. _Follow orders?_ It didn't sound like Ron. Sure, they were with Professor Firenze's coven, but Harry… hopefully, Harry was with Sirius at the castle.

"But the castle… Harry…" she offered.

"It's not about Harry!" he snapped. "It's about… Aahg! Just this once, would you just trust me. I… I know what I'm doing." His voice trailed off with these final words. They did not instil confidence, leaving Hermione to wonder. Still, she didn't object. The thought that there might be more dragons back at the castle… she was getting tired of fighting.

They flew for about five minutes before Hermione began to notice the sparkling beneath them on the forest floor. As the canopy would break, shimmers of white and silver shown through. It was as if the ground was covered with twinkling fallen stars. She was trying to figure out just what they were when the broom stopped abruptly, smashing Hermione's face between Ron's broad shoulder blades. In the clearing below, Hermione could now see that the flashes of light were ghosts, hundreds of ghosts. She pulled on his sleeve, but Ron's attention wasn't focused on the floor beneath. He was looking intently straight ahead into the darkness.

"Do you see anything," he whispered.

"The ghosts," answered Hermione.

"Not there. There!" Ron pointed directly in front of them. Hermione squinted, only able to see the moonlit top of the forest canopy and the dark outline of the mountains behind. "I don't like it," Ron whispered again. "I can hear them talking." He pulled out his wand. "Whatever happens," he said, "don't let go." Hermione's grip tightened.

She knew that Ron's telepathy was growing stronger again. This time there'd been no outward signs that anything was physically wrong, but as he had reached farther out trying to make it easier to learn such things as enemy plans, particularly near the Slytherin table, it had also been more difficult to shut out the voices. He'd grown jumpy, rash, irritable, and often sought any refuge to keep away from people. It was why, even though the two of them had grown close again, it was difficult to discuss her situation. Now that she thought about it, his need to escape the voices would explain their journey to Terntalag instead of the castle. Now, in the midst of nowhere, she was glad he had such a phenomenal internal radar.

After an eternity of silence, he hissed through his teeth one word, "Vampires." Hermione drew in a noticeable breath, trying hard not to shudder. Ron closed his eyes and cast his focus forward. "They don't know we're here. They're hiding in the tops of the trees, waiting for something, or someone."

"The coven?"

"Maybe… maybe, the coven. Yeah, that makes sense. It's an ambush."

"How many?" Hermione asked.

"Three," answered Ron. "Maybe more." He shifted on his broom. He tried to wet his lips with his tongue, but his mouth was too dry. "We could send a message back and go around."

"We could," agreed Hermione, knowing full well they wouldn't.

"Three…" Ron muttered out loud. "We could take… no. We need to get to Terntalag." There was a long pause. Hermione was stunned at the words of her fellow Gryffindor. Ron's excuse made it that much worse. "It'll be too hard to fly. If you knew how to shift your weight in the air… Maybe next time you'll take me up on my offer to teach you how to—"

"So now it's my fault? Don't blame me for being ambushed and hauled away into the air!" said Hermione. "I was perfectly fine with Grawp! It wasn't my idea to—"

Suddenly to their left, a Threstral broke above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. It was only five meters away when it reared back and let out a wild screech. Hermione cried out for only a heartbeat before she realized what it was. The creature beat its wings rhythmically, hovering above the forest, its skeletal black body shimmering in the moonlight. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it dipped back beneath the canopy.

"Well, that's bad luck," whispered Ron calmly.

"Oh, Ron," chided Hermione. "That's just superstition."

"Oh, really?" he replied sarcastically. "That's funny, because here they come. Get out word, just in case." He pulled in a deep breath and squeezed the broom handle.

Hermione turned and sent a patronus back toward Firenze and the wizards and witches he was leading through the forest to Terntalag. All she had time for was _Ambush_. The bright white light from the otter erupting from her wand blinded her temporarily as she turned back around and peered over Ron's shoulder into the darkness. She couldn't make out the approaching vampires until they were about twenty yards away and closing fast. What appeared out of the darkness was a human face as white as the shining moon and something else with two glowing eyes that looked more bat than human. Almost simultaneously, Ron and Hermione cast stunners at the creatures. The bat-like vampire swerved in midair avoiding the beams of light, but Hermione's spell struck the other square on. He yelped like a kicked dog and fell from the sky. Ron leaned forward and followed the crumpled mass downward.

"Keep casting!" he called to Hermione. "I'll do the driving."

"Why does that not comfort me?" she called. _"Reducto!"_ she cast, but again missed the bat vampire. "Sly devil, that one."

It was difficult twisting backward and casting spells, but she was beginning to see a pattern in the vampire's flight. She was about to cast a spell when another creature appeared on their left, so grotesque in appearance, Hermione froze for but a moment. His face was green and skeletal as if someone had poured candle wax over a rotted corpse and the wax had not yet set. His red eyes were piercing, but the look gave Hermione an idea. She held her wand out at the newcomer.

"_Incendio!"_ It wasn't a true hit, but the tatters of robes the vampire had draped over it caught fire, forcing him to stop in mid-air to attend to the flames.

"Duck!" yelled Ron. Hermione complied, almost sensing the guidance before Ron said it. A tree branch flew past. It struck the bat-like vampire, plunging a broken fork of wood some six inches into its chest. Blood spattered from his mouth and he crumpled to the ground below. She cursed herself for letting him get that close.

Ron flew like a madman, moving fearlessly through the forest trees. Branch after branch whizzed by their heads and more than a few scraped at their robes. She was beginning to think that maybe they had lost their pursuers. Ron may have too, because the sharp turns and zigzags were diminishing. It was then that the vampire with the green head appeared directly in front of them and with him was another bat-like vampire, its fur a golden beige. Ron stopped suddenly, causing Hermione, who was turned backward, to nearly flip off the broom despite its gripping charms.

"I thought you said there were only three!" she cried.

"I said _maybe_ three!" snapped Ron, pulling the broom hard left as Hermione cast another fire spell.

"Well there were more! Oh, Merlin! The new one… it's a wizard!"

The beige one held a wand in the fingers of his clawed hand, growled, and cast a beam of green light.

"Turn!" Hermione cried, but Ron already was. It was as if he was anticipating their every move. He deftly avoided three more spells without once looking back over his shoulder.

"Hold tight." Ron pulled up on the broom, breaking through an opening in the forest canopy. All of them shot up in the night sky, the moonlight glistening off the vampires, giving Hermione an easier shot, but also making their position more vulnerable. Ron shot forward in a straight line over the treetops, the vampires in direct pursuit, their huge wings brushing the tops of the trees.

"_Incarcerous!"_ Braids of rope spewed from the tip of Hermione's wand and, with a little flick of her wrist, a large net flew backwards. It engulfed the skeletal vampire, pulling his wings in and turning him into a large flying rock. She could hear the bones breaking as he crashed into forest canopy.

In return, the wizard vampire cast a stunner that struck the bristles of Ron's broom, singing Hermione's robes and burning her left leg. The broom lurched briefly to the right before he got it back under control.

"That was too close," said Hermione, trying to heal the injury.

"Yep."

"I like the trees better," she said, almost immediately regretting the words.

"Me too," Ron agreed and he nosed down on the broom descending back into the darkness.

Once again, the branches tore at their robes until they finally plunged through the canopy. They were moving as fast as Ron dared, flashes of white streaming by on either side. Ghosts continued to fill the forest.

"He's still on us!" called Hermione, forced to cast a shield charm in defence of the vampire's last stunner. "We better do something soon; this isn't working!"

"I know!"

There was an enormous tree in the distance and Ron willed his broom faster. He would have to time this right and with two it would be difficult. _Faster._ All thought was on the impending tree when he saw her. In a clearing, just to the right of Ron's path to mutual assured destruction, was a brilliant white Centaur. Golden hair draped loosely down her shoulders. She was nude from the waist up with only a quiver of arrows hung over her back connected to a leather thong that passed between her two ample breasts.

_Faster…_ Thought of the tree flickered as Ron's attentions suddenly swung toward the Centaur. He was so enthralled he didn't even notice her notch the arrow.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, now looking back at her and totally disregarding the tree.

"Ron! Turn!"

He spun around just in time to pull hard left, but it wasn't enough. The trunk of the tree clipped their already tattered broom bristles sending a shock that shattered the entire broom into a thousand splinters. The pair went tumbling in the air, crashing through bracken to the ground below. Ron bounced like a basketball upon the forest floor till he came to rest under a clump of ferns. His ears ringing, he lifted his head off the ground just in time to see the vampire land on Hermione.

He screamed her name, reaching for his wand, but it had been lost in the fall. Wandless, he jumped to his feet and ran at the creature. "Get off, you fucking—" He threw himself on the vampire's enormous back, wrapping both arms around its neck and heaving as hard as he could to pull it off her. "I'll rip your—" Surprisingly, the vampire didn't resist and he flung it over on its back only to see an arrow plunged deep into its throat.

Breathing hard, a small gash dripping blood down her forehead, Hermione stood unsteadily and took Ron by the arm.

"Are you okay?" he asked. But Hermione stepped past Ron toward the creature on the ground. Together they looked down as it gasped for air like a fish out of water. Its eyes were no longer red, but blue.

"He needs our help," she said, reaching for the arrow.

"Hermione—"

"That will not be necessary," said a voice to their side. There was a _fzzz-thwup_ and another arrow pierced the vampire's chest. Instantly, its laboured breathing stopped. There was a long, slow exhale. The bat-like features faded, replaced by those of a wizard… a wizard Hermione recognized from a shop in Diagon Alley.

With one last effort he reached up and grasped Hermione by the robes. "The boy," he breathed and then went silent, closing his eyes.

"Harry?" questioned Ron.

"Jamie," Hermione whispered, looking up into Ron's eyes.

"The boy of Harry Potter," said the white Centaur in agreement with Hermione, stepping closer to them.

"You… you…" Ron muttered and then looked away. "You know Harry?"

"I trained with him," she replied. "I am Felspar." She slipped her bow back over her shoulder.

"I am Hermione. This is Ron. We're Harry's friends."

Felspar looked closely at Hermione. She reached down and held her bushy hair in her fingers and then looked back to the sky. Hermione couldn't make out the expression on her face, but it was not a welcoming one.

"We have met, Hermione Granger. Two years ago my uncle nearly killed you for entering these woods. If it had not been for Albus Dumbledore, we would have certainly slayed the witch protecting you."

"Protecting me?" said Hermione incredulously.

"Umbridge," whispered Ron.

"You would be wise not to speak such a name in these woods, Ron Weasley."

"Felspar, Professor Umb… er, that woman was not protecting me. She was wicked and vile."

"On this we can agree, Hermione Granger." Felspar stepped over and placed a hoof on the dead wizard's chest. She reached down and retrieved her arrows, the blood vanishing from them as soon as they were exposed to the air. His corpse sunk into the earth below. "These creatures are rare in our woods," she said, slipping the arrows in her quiver. "Ronan said the night would be… interesting. He is never wrong."

Ron, his ears still ringing from the collision with the tree, shook his head, trying to focus on his original plan. "Are you going to Terntalag?" he asked.

"I patrol this portion of the forest," replied Felspar. "I believe Ronan thought it would be safer here, farther away from the forest edge. So, perhaps, he is not always right… but I wonder." She looked up to the sky not fully answering the question and frustrating Ron despite her beauty.

"Can you take her? I mean, can you take Hermione to Terntalag?"

"What?" asked Hermione. "You mean take _us_, right?"

"You can't be out here, Hermione," said Ron, holding her by the hands. "Terntalag is safer."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked irritably, wiping the drips of blood out of the corner of her eye. "I can fight just as easily as—"

"Your mate is right," inserted Felspar. "While it is noble to offer, your condition warrants that you not fight."

"My con—"

"Hermione," said Ron, grabbing her by the arm, "you nearly died today!"

"_Humph!"_ Hermione exclaimed dismissively. "I'm not the one without a wand!" With a flick of her own wand she summoned Ron's and handed it to him. "Here," she said snidely.

"Not here, not up on my broom," said Ron, bringing her closer. "In the caves, after the explosion with Patrick, I… I thought I'd lost you. You don't even see it, but you were gone. They said you were going to die. Harry brought you back and nearly died trying and you think you just had a nap."

"I don't think—"

"I won't let that happen again… not again. I can't." He caressed her face with his hand. "Please… just go with Felspar."

Hermione took Ron's hand in her own and brought it down, holding it over her heart. "Ron, do you think I could live with myself, if something happened to you?"

"Nothing's going to happen to me. You need to—"

"_We_ need to," said Hermione. "Don't you remember? Forever… together—"

"—till the end." Ron moved in closer. "Yeah, I remember," he muttered, looking down at his feet, not wishing to acknowledge his pledge when they were engaged. But at the same time he was suddenly glowing inside. It was the first time since Voldemort had taken control of Ron's body that she had even acknowledged they were still engaged. She had stopped wearing the ring long ago.

It was also the first time that Ron felt Hermione press in closer. Before, as they would hold hands, or come nearer, he could sense an underlying repulsion as if he wore some hideous mask that disgusted her no matter how hard she tried to see past it. For the first time, she overlooked the scars of his soul and held its true warmth.

"I love you," he whispered and they kissed. When she pulled back she was glowing, a warm smile spread broadly across her face lighting up the world. Then, for an instant, it faltered, her mind remembering something that she quickly pushed away.

"I love you t—"

Something crashed through the forest on their left. They looked up just in time to see a flash of black pass by. Neither Ron nor Hermione could make out what it was, but Felspar knew at once.

"Shahan," she muttered. "He was to watch the southern quarter." Her hoof clawed at the ground.

"Shahan?" asked Hermione. "I've heard that name. Harry mentioned it. He trained with you too? He's a Centaur."

"My cousin," answered Felspar. "His foolish ways will kill us all. He was supposed to watch the southern quarter."

"Yeah, you mentioned that," said Ron coolly.

"He can not go to the north. The falls…" Her hoof clawed at the ground again. It was clear she was agitated. She looked to the sky as if searching for answers. Both Ron and Hermione turned their gaze upward as well. It was then they saw them – about two dozen dragons, a mix of Welsh Green and Chinese Fireballs, heading from the north. The beating of their wings in the air was rhythmic and pulsating. Every now and then one of them would breathe fire and the others would cry out in an awful roar.

"Laughter," muttered Felspar.

"Where are they headed?" asked Hermione.

"Hogwarts," suggested Ron.

"No," corrected Felspar. "The creatures fly toward Terntalag. They are drawn to the wizards being guided by Firenze." She said these last words with contempt. Her gaze then returned to earth, looking north in the direction that Shahan was running. Which way to go? Then her mind began to focus as she recalled one of her lessons.

"In this forest, all living things are connected. When one feels joy, all feel joy, and when one feels pain…" She spun about and, before Ron or Hermione blinked, she launched three arrows at a distant tree. From the darkness, Hermione heard the faint _thwump_,_ thwump-thwump _as they struck their target.

"The message has been sent," said Felspar. "I must now go retrieve my cousin before he is lost forever. Good-bye Hermione Granger. Good-bye Ron Weasley." Felspar bowed respectfully. "It is good to see love such as yours in these times."

"Wait," cried Hermione. "Please, take us with you!"

"It's not safe here," added Ron. "The falls… you mentioned the falls. Others are retreating there." Felspar looked curiously at the red head, tilting her head slightly to one side.

"Who in their right mind would suggest such a thing?" she asked. "None save the Chosen could survive their touch."

"I have," said Ron quietly.

Felspar reared backward and then, slowly, moved closer, looking intently into Ron's eyes, trying to discern truth from lie. With a graceful, yet strikingly swift motion, she grabbed a knife hidden along the edge of the leather thong she was wearing. "There are those, even among the Centaur, who blame you for the death Albus Dumbledore."

"I know," said Ron, sadly, still holding her gaze. "They would be right; it was my fault."

"That's not true!" said Hermione, coming to his side, almost using herself as a shield. "It was Voldemort; he'd taken control. Ron had no way to withstand the power that had overtaken him."

"Can you be so sure?" asked Felspar. "Even a mouse will take on the Manticore when cornered."

"But the mouse becomes the meal nonetheless," countered Hermione.

"Yes," pressed Felspar, still holding the knife in Ron's face, "but did _this_ mouse fight? Did this mouse, who claims to have survived the Cleansing, fight still knowing he could not win?"

"Yes," answered Hermione.

"Can you be so sure he fought, not just for himself, but for the others he loved?" Felspar's eyes moved from Ron and narrowed on Hermione.

"Yes," said Hermione instantly as Ron turned to look at her. "Yes, I'm sure."

As quickly as it had appeared, the knife vanished. Felspar smiled slyly and placed her hands on the top of their heads, patting them as if they were pets. "I see now why your love is so strong." She looked back up toward the stars and whispered, "An interesting night, Ronan." She looked back at the couple.

"I think Shahan would say you lie like wizards. I guess we'll find out." Felspar then turned north. "Climb on you two. If my dam hears I had a wizard on my back, let alone two… No matter. If the signs hold true, we head to our deaths anyway."

Ron helped Hermione climb up and then she lent him a hand as he climbed on as well. In a flash they were racing through the forest at amazing speed, Ron clutching on to Hermione's waist and Hermione clutching onto Felspar.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"Nothing," said Ron ruefully, wondering why he hadn't climbed on first.


	45. To See Again

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 45**** – To See Again**

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A/N: I thought I'd pass on that, as of this post, Birth of a New Sun received over fifty thousand hits at FF. I want to thank you for reading and assure you that I will finish this story. It's just a question of how fast I can type it out of my head. Now… back to our hero.

**~~~***~~~**

The halls of Hogwarts were deserted as Harry made his way up to the Headmaster's office. He'd been down this corridor many times before, after curfew, in the dark, alone, with only the stoic suits of armour and sleeping patrons of the portraits for company. Tonight, however, many of the portraits hung empty. The few who remained in their frames were frightened, huddled behind whatever scenery they could, some consoling the charred victims of portraits from Hogsmeade. The muffled sobs and hushed condolences accompanied Harry as he walked, filling the air with fear and sorrow. So much so, in fact, that even the armour seemed to shiver in anticipation of what was to come. He was halfway down the long corridor when he noticed that they had noticed. A few had recognized him and they, in turn, were telling others.

"_It's him." "He's __back." "Who?" "The Potter boy." _

There was a rustling among the portraits as fear began battling with confidence, and sorrow was challenged by hope.

"_The Professor's have retreated."_

"_They haven't retreated; they're taking up position__s about the castle!" _

"_Ohhh, our doom is at hand."_

"_You heard what Dumbledore said. The end is near and it's not ours; it's Voldemort's!"_

Then there was a loud, commanding voice that called from the left, _"Harry!"_

He turned to find Sir Cadogan in a nearby portrait of fruit. He was dressed in sterling armour, a lance, with a skewered pear at its tip, in his right hand. "My boy, are you here to defend the castle? My informants tell me that the enemy has breached the gate. Glory is at hand! Where's your armour boy?"

"Erm… Sir Cadogan… er… I've been sent by the Headmaster to deliver a top secret message. I have to leave for a bit, but…" Harry moved closer to the portrait and lowered his voice. "I need your help."

"Anything… anything at all!"

"We can't have people huddled in the corners of their pictures, hiding. All eyes must be open wide and all information must be passed to the Headmaster. This is not a time for fear, sir; it's a time to show the true colours of Hogwarts!"

"Well, said!" cried Sir Cadogan. "I'll muster our troops immediately!" And at once he started racing from one portrait to the other, gathering the residents and telling all to remain vigilant in this their hour of need.

Harry smiled as he continued to the Headmaster's office, sensing the panic being pushed back and wondering if, out of the corner of his eye, he didn't see the suits of armour stand that much more erect, holding out their chests and gripping their weapons that much more tightly.

He arrived at the circular staircase in surprisingly good spirits and was about to say the password when the whispering began again. _ "Your love, Harry." _It was like a fly buzzing in his ear and he tried to swat it away. _"Tonight, she dies."_

"Stop it!" he cried to the empty air. "Leave me alone!" He muttered the password, _flea-collar_, and began the ride upward even as his spirit began to sink. He was about to step off when a ghost rose up out of the floor. Hoping it was Peeves, he pulled his wand, but instead saw it was Sir Nicholas wearing an expression of fatherly concern.

"Hello, Harry," he said solemnly. "Terrible night, eh?"

Harry nodded, tried to muster a smile and said, "It's good to see you, again."

"Ever the brave one, aren't you, Harry?" said Sir Nicholas proudly. "Gryffindor through and through."

Together they stepped to the Headmaster's door. "I've never really been brave," said Sir Nicholas pensively. "I was a blubbering cry-baby when they chopped my head off."

"Nearly, chopped your head off," corrected Harry.

"Yes. Nearly," answered Sir Nicholas, rolling his eyes. "I didn't stop crying until the twentieth chop and I probably would have continued if my windpipe had remained connected." He sighed. "I never understood why Headmaster Fortescue allowed me to be resident ghost of Gryffindor. For hundreds of years I've haunted these halls, wondering why Gryffindor. Tonight I finally understand. It's because of you, Harry."

"Me?" asked Harry. "Why me?"

"I've spoken with Helena. The path to the other side is at hand and you will be our guide. Some are confused… others are frightful, doubting your true intentions with their souls."

"Intentions? What—"

"But I know you," interrupted Sir Nicholas. "I've known you for seven years, but more importantly I was there when you first crossed over." He placed his hand upon Harry's shoulder. "I watched, tonight, as you brought back Hermione." Harry could feel the weight and the pressure of Nicholas' fingers gently squeezing. "It'll be up to me to lead the others who wouldn't otherwise take the journey. For the first time I see my true destiny."

Harry was about to say something when the whispering began again. _"Hurry, Harry. Hurry."_

"Hmmph," grumbled Sir Nicholas as he narrowed his eyes.

"Did you hear that?" asked Harry eagerly. Sir Nicholas scowled.

"Shoo!" he said waiving his hand in the air as if he were coaxing a dog off the front porch. "Go on! Get out of here!" He waved a few more times and then seemingly satisfied wiped his hands on the front of his clothes. "Ghastly things."

"What… what are they? What did you see?"

"Reapers, Harry." Sir Nicholas clucked his tongue. "They should know better, talking to the living."

"Reapers?"

"Harvesters of souls, Harry, and the ghosts wandering the forest are proof enough that they _don't do a very good job!_" He raised his voice at the end, as if hoping there might be a reaper or two within earshot. "That one…" Nicholas pointed somewhere behind Harry's left ear. "That one was supposed to collect you after your run in with Greg Goyle's broom, only he was flirting with a ghost in Hogsmeade, as if he could ever…" Sir Nicholas crossed his arms and Harry sensed a bit of jealousy. "They're supposed to watch silently until the moment arrives, but are all too often distracted. If you fail enough times, you get assigned to cat patrol.

"You're the first botched job that I can recall that's come back still alive. Tonight makes two. There was reaper waiting for Hermione. If they botch a job and let one slip through their fingers, they tend to hang around… try again. Usually, they follow the spirits of the dead who haven't chosen to be ghosts. If a soul doesn't outright turn down an offer to cross over, they always have another opportunity, so reapers try to convince them to get their soul count up. Young spirits are usually the easiest to persuade. You see, if no one tells you you're dead when you die, sometimes you just keep on going and, when a reaper comes later, you just don't believe them. Professor Bins' reaper was assigned to cat patrol in London a century ago."

"What are _young_ spirits?" asked Harry.

"Young spirits, newly dead. They often have difficulty revealing themselves." Sir Nicholas looked down and to the side of Harry as if gazing at another student. "Like your friend here. If he's been following you about, that might explain things. I always liked you, Patrick, but you really must leave Harry alone. The reapers are annoying and he has things to—"

"Patrick!" exclaimed Harry. "Patrick's here?" A subtle tug on Harry's arm from an invisible force answered his question. "Are you okay?" Harry asked, holding out his hand to the empty air.

"Of course he's not okay," chided Sir Nicholas. "He's dead and, I might add, he's made a terrible choice to ignore the reapers." Nicholas turned to the invisible Patrick. "You need to listen to their offer, boy! If you had any sense at all, you would— No need to get angry!"

The floor began to tremble and, for a moment, Patrick appeared at Harry's side. He was a shadow of his former self, constructed of nothing more than a faint cloud of white mist. The expression on his face, however, was one of pure exacerbation. He grabbed Harry by the front of his jacket.

"Ron!" he yelled, but it came out in a whisper. "You need Ron. Hurry!"

All at once, Patrick faded and the pressure on the front of Harry's jacket released. Harry called his name, but there was no answer.

"A bit too much for him, I'm afraid," said Sir Nicholas. "He'll need to gather his energy before he can do that again. If you're smart, Patrick, you'll muster with the rest of the ghosts when the time comes and leave Harry here alone."

Harry wasn't listening. His mind was swirling. Before Patrick had died, one of the last things he said to Ron was that he could defeat Voldemort. But how? Where to start? He didn't have a clue where Ron might be. And what of Jamie and Cho? Gabriella, at least, was safe in the caverns below. But then Harry's stomach began to twist into a knot, recalling the reapers words. Perhaps she wasn't so safe after all.

"Terntalag," he muttered to himself. "I've got to get to Terntalag." He turned and opened the door to the Headmaster's office only half acknowledging Sir Nicholas with a distracted wave of the hand and saying, "Thank you, Patrick," to the ether. No sooner had he closed the door than his arm began to burn. He put his left hand over the sensation, knowing what it was, but unwilling to look.

"That took you awhile."

Sirius was standing at a table with the same magical instrument Dumbledore had used to track his friends and foes. Stars of multi-coloured lights swam about in a great sphere.

"I got distracted," answered Harry, quickly moving toward the window. There was a broom leaning there and the window was open. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"There's a lot to be done." Sirius shrugged and then pointed at Harry's arm. "Are you injured?" he asked.

"It's nothing," said Harry, but the sensation was getting worse. He tried to rub it, hoping it would stop, but the burning only intensified.

"They're calling you, aren't they?" Sirius said knowingly. "Your friends… the dragons."

"Friends? They nearly killed Neville," spat Harry. "They can rot for all I care."

"And yet they call."

"It doesn't make sense. Singehorn can't really think I would join them in the fight against the castle."

"He already challenged you to join them," said Sirius, still examining the sphere. "You should answer it. Let him know your answer."

"He knows my answer. Besides, it may be a trap to keep me held in the other plane."

"I doubt it. Time has no meaning there, Harry. They can't hold you forever."

Harry recalled Singehorn's sudden surprise when he was attacked while still in the other plane, saying that the sands of time don't stay perfectly still. He pulled his sleeve back and looked at his right forearm. The dragon was writhing wildly on his arm and the Viswa Vajra was pulsating. If Harry understood correctly, the dragons were in battle against evil and needed his help. Well, what _they_ believed was evil anyway.

"I won't help you destroy the Wizarding world," he muttered to his wrist as if Singehorn was somehow listening on the other side. The dragon on his arm seemed to look up at him and smile in response. Harry yanked his sleeve down and reached for the broom.

"Is Blaise, okay?" he asked.

"He's walking about, watching the wireless with the others. Whatever Neville gave him has him back on his feet again."

Satisfied that he had fulfilled Draco's request Harry nodded and, before he left, he looked back at his godfather to ask one last question, a question he already knew the answer to.

"Sirius, Gabriella is supposed to be in the caverns below the castle too. Is she?"

"No Harry. She's somewhere in the Forbidden Forest."

"Do you know where?"

"No. The gathering of so many ghosts makes it difficult to see, but for now at least she's fine."

"Damn it! I told her…" Harry sighed with resignation. "What about—"

"From what I can see, _all_ the others are fine, and they're all in the forest, which is where they're supposed to be. Still, their centres are not quite right. Something tells me that they're not _exactly_ where they're supposed to be."

"I understand," Harry said with a nod.

"This too. There's a darkness moving in from the north. It might be Voldemort; it might be something else. Whatever you had hoped the dragons would protect is no longer secure."

"Terntalag?"

"I'd start there, Harry, but it might be the falls. There are wizards heading to both, but Terntalag is the most vulnerable. First, see if Firenze needs help, then try the falls. In about two hours we should know how the night will end."

"What do you mean? What happens in two hours?"

"Just be at the falls by then, Harry. I'll see you there."

"How—"

"I'll see you there."

Harry was about to press the question, when his arm bit at him again, sending a sharp pain all the way up to his shoulder. His mind turned to the dragons of the northern mountains and then to Terntalag. The urge to fly there was overwhelming. When he looked up, Sirius was gone. Harry climbed onto the broom, took one last look at the office he'd come to love, and flew out the window.

He slipped past the south tower and noticed witches and wizards taking up positions at all the open windows and along the ramparts. Out behind the Quidditch pitch, four giants sat with trees in their hands. Hagrid was talking to one, his arms swung out wide to emphasize whatever point he was making. As Harry swooped around Gryffindor, he looked south. There, marching up from the front gate, was an enormous host. Half a dozen giants led the way with a swarm of Dementors swirling about them. There were a number of Death Eaters dressed in black, marching behind the giants and in the air, yet further back, vampires hovered. Flashes of light filled the night sky as the protections about the castle came to life. One giant was blasted off his feet. Landing backward, he crushed a number of wizards on the ground. Harry pumped his fist, admiring his godfather's handiwork.

Knowing in his heart that there were none near, Harry still scanned the sky for dragons. Finding only the moon and the comet Ebyrth plummeting toward Mars, he had a strong desire to stay and fight. He wanted deeply to protect Hogwarts his home, but again his arm burned and, almost reflexively, he tilted the nose of the broom, arcing in the sky and heading towards Terntalag. He had a duty to help the Centaurs if he could and his arm was urging him forward. He was refusing to answer the call of the dragon, but knew he was being pulled uncontrollably toward them.

It was exhilarating to be flying again. Harry skimmed close to the forest canopy and could sense the strengthening of the forest's energy as he drew closer to the source of its power – the falls. It was a healing sensation, strengthening him from within and vanquishing whatever depletion he suffered from healing Hermione. As he flew he cast his patronus randomly about the forest, calling for his friends and hoping they might respond. It wasn't long before he saw, in the distance, the glint of scales in the moonlight and the flashing of flames above the treetops. Terntalag was on fire; he was too late. Without thinking, Harry tucked and accelerated. In a matter of seconds he found himself in the midst of a dozen dragons; most were Chinese Fireballs. None were faces he recognized, but with the ring he could hear their laughter.

"What are you doing!" he cried out. "Stop!"

"Ahh, look," growled a greenish Fireball, "The Hungarian lapdog!" The dragon was battle weary, Harry could sense that. Fresh gashes dripped blood from its long neck. They were not the marks made by Wizarding spells.

"_Arrows?"_ he thought to himself.

The dragon stopped its dive on the village below and turned in a large arc toward Harry. Its fellow dragons moved higher into the air as if they were taking seats for a Quidditch match. Harry looked down, searching with his mind for life within the fire, but the flames were too bright.

"Primate," hissed the dragon as smoke billowed from his nose. He was about to strike. "I'll show Singehorn what I think of his Votary."

Harry wasn't sure that it would work, but something inside told him that it might. For an instant, he thought it too cruel, but hearing the name _Singehorn_ infused Harry with a greater aggression and with the dragon ready to erupt the moment of compassion passed. Harry held out his hand bearing the ring of Pravus in something of a fist, the black stone facing the dragon, and cried, "Stop!" centring his mind on that of the beast before him.

The great head of the beast seemed to stop in mid-air as it cried out in pain unable to resist. With a loud _crack_, its body swung forward below its neck, sending it into a great cartwheel through the sky until it began to plummet to the earth. When the dragon struck the ground it erupted in a great fireball, razing the nearby trees.

"That went better than I had hoped," muttered Harry to himself. Suddenly the dragons that had been watching shook the stun of defeat from their minds and attacked in unison. Flame rained down upon him, but it was not concentrated and had no effect. Swinging his broom out from under the onslaught, he again used the ring. He picked the two closest dragons and commanded, "Protect!"

It was as if he was using the Imperious Curse, only now he meant it and he didn't care what others thought. Harry smiled, feeling the pain and turmoil of the beasts as they unwillingly turned on their own. They threw themselves into the paths of the others, breathing fire and slashing with their claws. Two of their friends were gutted in mid-air, completely unprepared for the attack. The others realized what was happening and killed the two under Harry's control, but not before one lost a hand to his ally.

"He has the ring," growled the dragon as he cauterized his bloody stump with his breath. "Swirl!" he called. "Quickly! Dragon's breath!"

Harry thought they might retreat, but instead they started spinning about the sky, faster and faster. It was a giant tornado of flame, hovering above the treetops. He couldn't see where they were in the giant fireball and, if they all exploded forth at once, he'd have no chance of simultaneously focusing on their thoughts. For a second, his courage faltered. He was alone, his village in ruins, and a flight of dragons was about to destroy him. It was suicide. But then, the burning in his arm began to radiate strength to his shoulder. It was not pain he now felt, but a warmth that spread across his chest and then throughout his body. "Singehorn would not back down," thought Harry. He pulled his wand and began to fly toward the fireball.

The air filled with the faint aroma of cigar smoke. A vampire appeared on Harry's right side, his fangs glistening in the moonlight. Harry could hear his thoughts.

"Perhaps _this_ is what Soseh meant when she said I should be by your side."

"Dakhil?" asked Harry, wondering where he'd come from and whose side, exactly he was on. "What do you want?"

"The question, Primate, is what do _you_ want?"

Harry didn't have time to argue. "What are they doing?" he called, the two flying straight toward the fire-red tornado. As they grew near, the wind became stronger.

"It is a dragonstorm, Harry. They used it on the Centaur village below earlier tonight. Invented in the east by our friends here, it is an incendiary nightmare, but it cannot harm you – I think. Fly toward the tip of the funnel. That will be the point from which the fire erupts. When they break formation, they'll move outward from the fireball, not down. We'll be underneath. Aim for their bellies; we'll only get one shot."

"Oh sure," muttered Harry to himself. "Fly into the heart of an incendiary nightmare and, _maybe_, I'll survive." Twisting his hand tightly about his broom, Harry nodded and moved his broom toward the centre of the funnel. Dakhil, flying with extremely powerful wings and holding his own in the ever increasing wind, was at his side. _"Not so bad for such an old man,"_ thought Harry.

They were about fifty yards away from the bottom of the funnel, which was now glowing white, when a dark cloud passed in front of Ebyrth – more dragons. There were four, five, maybe more. "Dakhil!" Harry pointed.

"Damn it!" cursed Dakhil in anger and without a hint of fear.

Harry was impressed at the old man's bravery. Their situation had been tenuous at best, but with more dragons coming to fight, it was hopeless. There was no way Harry could control enough with his mind before the others took him down, no matter the tricks Dakhil had up his sleeve. Still, the vampire seemed to smile, not focussing on the new attackers, but on their original prey.

"Prepare yourself, boy," he yelled over the roar of the dragons, which explained the deafening wind. "You've never been through this sort of fire. Pray you never will again." Dakhil held out his wand and tapped Harry's broom, bathing it in a blue glow – a protection charm.

In that instant, all hell exploded and the entire sky lit up in a blinding white flash. Harry was forced to shield his eyes, but he knew that when he opened them it would take too long to recover his sight, so he reached out his mind, searching for the dragons through the power of their flame. Even then, there was too much energy to see through. He would have to wait, but that presented yet another problem. The heat was growing more intense with each passing moment. At first he sensed a burning sensation, nothing more than placing one's hand over a flame. But that quickly increased to pain as if he was stepping barefoot on hot coals, before he had learned how to allow the heat to pass around him.

This was different. The heat came from everywhere. There was so much energy that he could not detect Dakhil who he knew was at his side. The pain grew more intense, which was acceptable as long as he remained focused on protecting his body from physical harm. He could hear the perspiration sizzle off his forehead and the first sense of doubt crept into his mind. _What if it was a trap? What if Dakhil had been baiting him all along?_ He was feeling the need to cast a shield charm, which was the absolute wrong thing to do. A shield charm would be worthless; his wand would be vaporized. Unfortunately, the thought of such a charm broke his concentration. He could smell smoke – something was burning and it wasn't his broom.

"_Use the stone."_

It wasn't a voice; it was a thought. No. It _was_ a voice, the voice of the kindest dragon Harry had met – Tanwen. There were few on earth, man or beast, that Harry had greater respect for.

"_Use the stone,"_ she repeated and at once Harry knew what she meant. Instead of letting the energy flow around him, he needed to let it flow into him, into the vivificus stone laying along side his liver. If he was wrong, however, his insides would be vaporized. He swallowed hard. It was time to stop doubting. He exhaled and let the fire pass into him. The Heart of Asha was thirsty for energy and it pulled the fire of the dragonstorm into it greedily, remaining cool to the touch. The pain Harry had felt was quenched, the heat vanished and at once his mind could see the targets in front of him and Dakhil, still flying at his side.

Without hesitation, he let fly three stunners and each struck true to the underbellies of the dragons he aimed for. The first spell was so amplified that it shot straight through the unsuspecting dragon and erupted out its back. He fell out of the sky like a rock while the other two were sent into unconscious spins toward the ground. Likewise, Dakhil cast two spells that dropped his dragons from the sky. There was a roar of approval from Tanwen, who was closing in. The new dragons, sensed Harry, were Hungarians and, instead of attacking him and Dakhil, they attacked their remaining dragon foes.

Harry opened his eyes and adjusted to the dim light. The moon shimmered off of Tanwen, who was not in the battle directly, but flying down to the ground as the Chinese Fireballs fell, dispatching them before they could regain flight. He could tell she was hurt by the way she flew.

"Your injured," he called to her with his mind.

"I'm fine," she growled. "Finish your job before… too late."

There was a great roar high in the sky above them. For a moment, the moon vanished casting the earth below into darkness, yet before that Harry knew who it was – Singehorn. When the great dragon arrived there was only one Chinese Fireball still fighting. When it heard the roar, it arced in the sky and began to fly south. Singehorn, with only one good wing and a bad arm, chased the Fireball down and bit through his neck with a loud crunch. He shook the dead creature wildly and then flung downward, roaring viciously once more.

Singehorn then turned toward Harry and flapped his one good wing.

"To the ground," called Dakhil with a sharp sense of urgency in his voice. "Make him follow us to land." Harry obliged, not sure if Dakhil was warning him that an attack was imminent or not.

The two landed, followed by the Hungarians, just outside the burning ruins of Terntalag. Harry was anxious to search for survivors, but the six wounded dragons towering over him suggested that he remain where he was for now, focusing all his attention on their needs. They all waited as Singehorn circled, wondering if he would land, if he could land at all. But, at last, he descended, destroying a Quidditch pitch of trees in the process and shaking the ground. Tanwen went to his side and put her wing around him. It looked as if she was guiding him over and Harry didn't understand why until they came closer. She was speaking to him in a way that Harry could not hear. Singehorn nodded at her words as he lumbered forward, dragging his right wing and bearing little weight on his right leg. He was severely injured.

As the two approached, Harry looked more closely at the others. Each one of them had been slashed and scorched in some way. Some had boils, or blisters that suggested the work of wandfire. Even Dakhil was missing a portion of his left ear and had a faint red line that came down across his neck – a gash that had already begun to heal.

He whispered in Harry's ear, "Choose your next words wisely, Primate… if you are afforded any to choose." Then, Dakhil stepped away, leaving Harry to stand alone in the middle of the ring of dragons.

Tanwen spoke first. "Three days ago, Singehorn was taken captive by Ti-Lung, leader of the Dragon Lair of the East – Anagas. A friend of all dragons, he was taken against his will, chained and bound."

Harry recalled his last meeting with Singehorn in the other plane. There, Singehorn held a large chain which he pulled behind him. Harry had thought it was a whip. Realizing the mistake, Harry looked at Singehorn.

"I was a fool. Why didn't you tell me?" cried Harry. "Summon me? I would have—"

Singehorn smiled. "Yes. I believe you would have," he said with a raspy voice that was far weaker than Harry was accustomed to. "You would have tried and you might have succeeded, but that was not your fate. Your services were needed more urgently elsewhere with your own kind. Still, I called Dakhil and, when you told me the Hungarians were gathering, I held hope that they were coming to my rescue and they were. As you see, it was a hard fought battle, but—"

"Let me help you," said Harry moving to Singehorn's aid, but the dragon raised and lowered his leg, creating a small earthquake that nearly knocked Harry off his feet.

"LISTEN!" the dragon cried. "While I was in the east, the plan to destroy the Wizarding world was created."

"Then it's true," whispered Harry. "There was a —"

"We argued," continued Singehorn, ignoring Harry's ramblings, "about how to take advantage of this war of yours and turn it in our favour. I tried to persuade Ti-Lung and the others of a less violent way, but centuries of mistrust and mistreatment are not easily swept away. A great number of dragons came to see the situation as did Ti-Lung. But others agreed with me – the Romanian Longhorns and the Ukrainian Ironbellies. I believe that Soseh may have had a hand in uniting the dragons of the mountains. Unfortunately, our count was too few and the plan of Ti-Lung was chosen."

"But—"

"Duty bound, I swore allegiance. Though I knew another way, a better way to end the dominion of wizards over dragons, I followed the will of my kind."

"The will of _some _of our kind," interjected a spectacularly green Hungarian that stood taller than the rest and was covered in more blood. Harry had never met him before, but, even injured, the dragon was formidable.

"True enough, Drahmir," agreed Singehorn. "True enough. I ignored the great strength and kindness of the Votary. I was so blinded by my hatred of all the ills done to dragons at the hands of wizards, that I was easily swayed. We all were. It was not until coming to Britain and speaking with Callum, a Hebridean Black, that my eyes were opened. Years ago, I had met Dumbledore; the stories of his ways are legend, but it was the Hebridean that convinced me of their truth. And then, flying over these lands, I saw them with my own eyes. That he would reach out to the Centaur and other living creatures of the forest. That he would show such kindness on Hagrid who is known well by the dragons… Callum then pointed to your works, Harry, inspired, he said, by the hand of Dumbledore." Harry nodded in agreement. "No, I could not murder on this ground. The way to winning this war is to win the hearts of wizards, not to destroy them; to expand the Votary, not deny it. We will win by turning more minds, not by severing more lives.

"When I protested, declaring that, with the addition of the Hebridean Lair, the number in favour of my position was greater, Ti-Lung took me captive so that it would appear I remained his ally. There was no honour on that day and that arrogant action has cost many lives. Still, I have returned and with your help we shall turn the tide in our favour. But it has come at a cost; the northern border has been breached. The darkness flows through unabated. The dragons are in disarray and it will take some time before I can restore order."

"Restore order!" growled Tanwen. "My lord, you can barely fly. You need to be healed. And then, you must rest."

"There is no time for rest, Tanwen," the old dragon grumbled. "I must pay for letting the darkness cloud my vision." Then he turned once more to Harry. "Forgive me, Primate. I was blind, but now I see."

There was a glint of white that appeared briefly at Harry's side, but quickly vanished.

"Patrick?" asked Harry to the air. "Patrick, was that you?"

The air was silent and the others looked at him as if, perhaps, he'd lost his mind. Harry tried to think what it might have been that caused Patrick, if it was him, to try to regain shape. Was it a warning? A signal? Harry searched and scoured his mind, trying to replay Singehorn's last words over in his mind and then from somewhere, deep in the woods behind them, he heard once again the chant that the ghosts had been saying since first he heard it in Greece. And that's when the words hung in the air

…_We wait the day the dragon comes,_

_one blind who regains sight…_

Harry's heart skipped. The ghosts had it all wrong. It wasn't Harry that represented the blind dragon, the one who would see them safely to the other side. It was Singehorn.


	46. Girl's Night Out

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 4****6 – Girl's Night Out**

**~~~***~~~**

"My duty is here," said Macleta calmly. "I must stay and protect my home."

"Please don't let this happen!" cried Gabriella. "You must take me to the falls!"

At this Macleta's demeanour stiffened. _"Must?"_ she queried. "You presume much, child. Such words, spoken among others of my herd, would be your last. I offer you my hospitality because you belong to the Chosen. Don't think for an instant that your kind are welcomed here."

Gabriella stepped back as Macleta stepped forward. Anger mixed with fear was beginning to roil up within her and she knew she was sensing something similar from the Centaur. It was rare for a Centaur to reveal such an emotion as fear, but Macleta was a rare Centaur.

Gabriella's mother had taught her to hold on to the emotions of others and to examine them… use them to reveal the nature of the person in front of you. She couldn't just come out and say Shahan was a murderer; he hadn't done anything yet… she hoped. The thought that he might, however, was making her more anxious by the second. Despite her desire to argue, she chose another path… one of diplomacy.

"F-Forgive me, Macleta," she said softly looking down. "The battle, the night… wizards do not hold their minds on the moment as well as the Centaur."

The response seemed to satisfy Macleta and she turned, once again, her gaze to the celestial events above them.

"It's just that," Gabriella continued, "since I was a very little, I have had a vision."

Squeezing her fingers tightly together that the rest of her might remain calm, Gabriella waited. It felt like an eternity… the fire crackling, the wind beginning to pick up in the trees overhead… Finally, without moving, Macleta said, "Go on."

"It used to come to me in my sleep…"

"Of course."

"And, more recently, the vision has grown stronger, coming to me while I'm still awake. A smell… a sight… anything can trigger it. I think that's because what I once dreamt as a child is about to come true."

"Reasonable."

"It's a vision of me in white robes… dead… an… an arrow in my back… a Centaur arrow."

Macleta dropped her upward gaze, but did not look at Gabriella. "It would be wise not to wear white," she said, "though the robes may carry other meanings." The words were not so much dismissive as reflective. Macleta was trying hard not to reveal what she was thinking. Gabriella could tell by the way the Centaur suddenly began fiddling with her fingers. "As for death… it hangs heavy in the air for us all."

"True," Gabriella agreed. "But recently I've been wondering, looking at the vision from a different perspective. What if… what if the person in my dream wasn't me? What if it was someone else with long, black hair wearing white robes, a tw—"

"—twin," Macleta completed the sentence.

"What if the Centaur was the angriest Centaur in the forest? A Centaur who hated wizards and all they stood for? A Centaur who would do anything to bring down the Chosen and all he loved?"

"Shahan," whispered the Centaur.

"Macleta, I believe," said Gabriella, "that I had interpreted my vision incorrectly. I think now that the arrow is not meant for me, but for Cho. Perhaps the arrow is meant for her child and strikes her instead."

"A Centaur does not miss," said Macleta softly.

"Perhaps… unless you were still in training and unable to control your anger, letting emotions cloud your vision and muddle your thoughts. It's the very thing the Dark Lord searches for to join his legions." Gabriella stepped closer to the fire. It suddenly seemed quite cold. "This Centaur… I've seen his dark coat, Macleta." She stopped unwilling to say his name, but she didn't need to; Macleta knew.

"Not even Shahan knows where the two are in hiding. If she stays in place, she'll be fine."

"I only know what I've seen," said Gabriella. "Even you have said that visions can be flawed." Gabriella bent low to the fire, picked up a branch that was half-burnt and set it in the middle of the glowing embers. "You said that Terntalag will fall tonight, so I understand why you don't want to leave. But the battle for us all is not here, it's with Jamie, the Chosen's child. I know this as I know the sun will rise in the morning. If the Dark Lord captures him, more than Terntalag will fall. We mustn't let the stars determine our fate, let them instead reflect our choice to make a difference. Please help me; I need you."

Without speaking, Macleta drew an arrow and fired it into the trees. After a moment, there was a loud _thunk_ – it had struck its target.

"I will not leave Terntalag unprotected," she said, her eyes focused forward on the dimly lit trees.

"But—"

"Nor will I let the darkness converge on our forest unabated."

A Centaur moved forward out of the trees. "Yes, my lady," he said holding his fist over his chest with a subtle bow. Macleta just looked at him intently for a moment. Gabriella wanted to scream to hurry, but then she noticed the younger Centaur nod. They were communicating telepathically. Another moment passed and then, without speaking, he suddenly turned and shot four, maybe five arrows so quickly Gabriella couldn't see his hands. There was silence and then the trees seemed to groan. Macleta nodded as if she understood their meaning.

"The northern border has been breached," she said. "Ronan knows this and his herd is moving to intercept, but they are being thwarted by dragonfire."

"Dragonfire?" asked Gabriella.

"Their path, my lady," said the young Centaur. "It will bring them dangerously close to our village."

Macleta nodded. "Magorian has made the choice. We must first defeat the darkness."

Gabriella sighed with relief. But Macleta was not finished.

"The dragons harassing the herd are not our only threat. To the south is a large gathering of wizards and other creatures. They too are moving toward Terntalag. Ronan and his troop will have come and gone when the next wave arrives. If the dragons don't raze Terntalag, these wizards might. Hagrid has sent word that it is your army in retreat, but many of my kind believe it to be an invasion."

"They'll help," implored Gabriella. "I'm sure they'll help."

Macleta pawed the ground restlessly. She was having trouble choosing the path ahead. The sacrifice would be great. Once more she turned to the stars for answers. Finally, she said to the young Centaur, "Gronyn, find Firenze. He knows these wizards better than even Magorian… perhaps too well. Nonetheless, we will defer to his judgement in this matter. Warn him of the dragonfire and ask he proceed with haste."

Gronyn nodded one last time and disappeared. There was but a gust of wind that rustled the leaves where he once stood. Macleta stepped past the fire and looked down the main street of the village. "From the east," she said, "Felspar sends word that she carries two of your kind to the falls even as we speak. The three were attacked by vampires. None are injured, but they insist that the falls must be defended."

"Harry?" asked Gabriella anxiously. "Is he okay?"

"No child, not the Chosen. He has taken refuge at the castle."

"Refuge?" asked Gabriella in disbelief. "Then who… Macleta, none of this makes sense. Which friends?"

"Hold my hand, child and we will find out."

Gabriella reached up and took Macleta by the hand. In a flash she was lifted bodily upward and then the world stood still. The flames of the fire hung frozen – suspended in mid air; the breeze stopped and leaves of the trees grew still. In the next second, everything was a blur. Trees and bushes flashed by. Creatures, illuminated by the moon's light, looked like powdered statues. A minute passed and they were flanked by two white male Centaurs, perhaps the largest Gabriella had ever seen. Their chests were massive and their arms as big as tree trunks. Each carried a spear and they ran with a grace that was unsurpassed. She couldn't help but think that one, who had hair as white as his coat that ran down and over his shoulders, gave Macleta a sly smile.

Gabriella tried to ask if female Centaurs took more than one mate, but when she tried to speak the words would not leave her mouth. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, the white Centaurs left, pealing off and disappearing into the forest, heading back the way they came.

"_The attack on Terntalag__ has begun,"_ she heard Macleta say, but they weren't words. They were thoughts. Still they moved forward, the air growing noticeably moister.

It was then that the onrush of memories struck her. The scent of wet loam filled the air. They were close. As if sensing Gabriella's reaction, Macleta slowed down. The wind began to blow again and, in the distance, the sound of a roaring river could be heard – the falls. Macleta lowered Gabriella to the ground and she began to run at once, but Macleta held her back.

"From here we must proceed with caution," the Centaur said.

"I'm not afraid," declared Gabriella.

"You say your vision was of your death. I would not dismiss lightly that that possibility still exists. Visions of our own death always portend some danger, twin or no twin. We are at the top of the falls and there is no fence to keep you from falling over the edge to your death and the edge never likes to stay in one place for long. So, unless you can fly, I suggest that you proceed with caution." Gabriella nodded in agreement.

They moved slowly toward the rushing water, following a path of sorts, worn only by a handful of the forest's creatures. Its tortuous path swung wildly in one direction and then another, sometimes backtracking, but steadily moving toward the falls. As the proceeded, Gabriella noticed the ghosts. There weren't any. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized that those they saw along the way were heading in the direction from which they'd just come. Something was drawing them toward Terntalag, but what?

"Near the top of the falls," Macleta whispered, "is an outcropping of rocks. There we will find your twin hidden. There is a secret—" She stopped, her keen eyes focused on something directly ahead. The bracken blocked Gabriella's view.

"What is it?" she asked Macleta. "What do you see?"

"The witches of your kind are very perplexing," Macleta sighed. "She and her child sit… exposed on a rock near the river."

Gabriella began to run, but Macleta grabbed her by the arm. "Wait, child," she whispered. "The other of my kin told me that there are wizards nearby, moving in from the north."

"Then we must hurry. We can't wait! It's… it's all my fault." She ran calling Cho's name, but Macleta held back and reached for her bow. As Gabriella approached, she could clearly see by the light of the comet and moon above the pair still seated on a low rock near the river's edge. Jamie was cradled in Cho's arms, a shock of unruly black hair setting stark contrast to the brilliantly white robes Cho was wearing. So white, in fact, they seemed to glow – iridescent in the moon's light. You wouldn't need to be a Centaur to see her marching about the forest. The closer she got, the more familiar everything became and fear began to rise up in Gabriella's throat. It was Cho, however, who was first startled.

Hearing the rustling approach her, Cho brandished her wand, but before she bellowed out a warning, she realized who was approaching and sat back upon the rock, holding Jamie in her arms. There was no joy in meeting her friend. Instead Cho crumpled upon the stone, he shoulders hunched over in resignation. She was crying; streaks of wet glistened down her cheeks. Dropping down on one knee, Gabriella placed her hand on Cho's arm.

"You can't be out like this," she said softly. "It's too dangerous." Gabriella's eyes cast about searching for any sign of black, but with the light of the moon and Ebyrth overhead, the whole forest was awash in various shadows, most of them threatening. The roar of the falls made it impossible to hear any threat approach.

"I have to do this," muttered Cho incoherently. "I have to, but I can't."

"Cho, what is it? What's wrong?"

"I love him so much." She began to sob again, pulling Jamie close. The young boy was awake, his dark eyes enthralled with the running water, flashing sparkles of the celestial lights above.

"_M-mai!"_ he babbled, pointing at the water.

Cho began to shake, holding him out in front of her. "The water… it cleansed Harry. Voldemort doesn't want him anymore. Why wouldn't it cleanse Jamie? Then he wouldn't take my boy." She stood and stepped toward the water's edge.

"Cho…." Gabriella cautioned. Her friend stopped.

"Just a dip," she said, looking back over her shoulder. "I'll hold on to him."

"Cho, when Ron touched the water's surface, it pulled him in. You can't trust it! It might kill you both."

"Not Jamie," Cho argued, her eyes blank. She'd been thinking about this for days, turning the possibilities around in her mind. "He's pure… I know he is." But then she hesitated as the doubt rushed in. "But what if… what if he was born bad? What if the stain runs so deep it can't be polished away without taking his life? I couldn't bear to lose him." She began to cry again. "Not my Jamie."

Gabriella stepped over and put her arm around her friend, but not without thoughts that she should just rip the cloak off her at this very moment. She couldn't risk conflict. Not so near the water. "There's nothing bad about Jamie. Look at him!" She tickled his chin and he giggled, smiling back at them both. "He was born out of love, Cho."

"But the spell…" begain Cho, "…your father's spell over Harry. He didn't know what he was—"

"Harry?" Gabriella laughed under her breath. "He knew exactly what he was doing. His emotions weren't altered, only amplified. Cho, we were in very different places last year, you and I. He may have been interested in me, but he loved you. I know this with all my heart. He always has… and a first love never dies."

The words made Cho shudder. Her thoughts flashed on Cedric, whose memory still haunted her. "No," she said quietly. "No it doesn't. It's eternal. It's pure." Resolved to put Jamie in the water she moved closer and bent low.

"Cho," said Gabriella suddenly. "You know… I'm not sure what kind of effect the magic on that cloak will have near the water. Maybe you should let me hold it for you. And let's move further from the edge of the falls. I've heard the rocks here shift. We don't want to go tumbling over."

"I thought you said it would protect me?" asked Cho. "Why would the water not—"

"I'm just not sure it's safe… that's all. I don't want anything to happen to either of you."

To Gabriella's relief, Cho nodded. She was stepping over to Gabriella to have her hold Jamie when a Centaur appeared from nowhere. It was about fifty yards away opposite the direction of Macleta. Gabriella's wand was out in an instant and she cast a shield charm. Then she noticed through the glimmer of the shield that the Centaur was white with three torsos.

"What in Merlin's name?"

Then it was clear. There were riders. Down dropped a flash of red hair in dark robes and then a young woman with bushy hair in scarlet.

"Is that Ron?" Gabriella asked incredulously. "Ron Weasley?"

"It's Ron and Hermione," said Cho with surprise. "What are they doing here?"

Gabriella maintained the shield, unsure what to think. In the distance she could see Felspar was cautioning Ron and Hermione, probably in the same way Macleta cautioned her.

"I think you can drop the shield," said Cho softly as Jamie tried to touch its shiny surface. Gabriella obliged and stood. "That certainly lit up the night."

Gabriella laughed. "Well," she said, "if we were hidden before, we aren't now. The only thing brighter is that cloak of yours. Maybe you should fold it away for now."

"I think—"

There was a tremendous roar overhead. A number of dragons, Hungarian Horntails, were moving southward. Gabriella tried to reach out to them, but all she could sense was anger and despair. "They want blood," she whispered in disbelief. Last in the line was the largest of them all. Her heart fell when she saw it was Singehorn, silhouetted against the moon's light. He appeared to be struggling to stay aloft, but he too, perhaps more than the others, was filled with rage. "Macleta was right," she said with a sigh. Still, her heart held on to hope that somehow they were mistaken. When she looked down she was surprised to find Ron and Hermione only a few yards away, while Felspar had disappeared.

"They're following the Fireballs," said Ron pointing to the southern sky. Felspar says they're going to attack Terntalag. They've already started on Hogwarts."

"That's a lie!" snapped Gabriella.

"A lie?" snapped back Ron. "We were there! A dragon almost barbequed Hermione!"

Hermione grimly nodded in agreement. There was no joy in being right on this account.

"It's not possible," said Gabriella quietly.

"Well, at least you made it here safely," said Ron, searching for the other witches and wizards who were retreating toward the falls. "Where are the other—" He stopped when he heard Hermione squeal. They both suddenly realized that the other witch was Cho Chang and in her arms was a baby. Well, not so much a baby anymore. Hermione began to swoon immediately.

"Cho!" she cried with a grand smile. "And this… this is… Jamie?"

"Hermione," answered Cho with a soft smile. "Why am I not surprised? It's good to see you and Ron… I had heard… well, I'm glad you still have each other."

"Thank you," said Hermione, looking back at Ron who seemed to have started a minor quarrel with Gabriella. "It's been hard. I'm sorry we weren't there to meet you and Tonks in Hogsmeade. I heard it was awful. Draco… a vampire…" She shook her head in disgust.

"You have nothing to apologize for. In Merlin's name, Professor Dumbledore, murdered. I only hope I can be as noble as you, when the time comes."

"I don't know how noble I was," whispered Hermione, her skin starting to itch at the thought of what had happened. "Dumbledore's death… it changed things. Ron and I… we're just only now setting things right again. He's a good— What?"

Cho looked up at Hermione with a sparkle in her eyes and a wry smile upon her face. Even little Jamie was smiling brightly. Cho glanced over at Ron and then winked knowingly at Hermione who distractedly began straightening her robes. "Harry said you were engaged. Where's your ring?"

Hermione waved her right hand over her left and there upon her finger appeared the engagement ring Ron had given her. "It's never left my finger," she said.

"Beautiful," exclaimed Cho. "Absolutely beautiful. Why hide it?"

Again Hermione looked back at Ron and Gabriella. This time they were looking back right at her. She swallowed and then smiled at Ron as she answered Cho's question. "It's just a shield to keep it from being snagged on the bracken. Now that we're out of the darkness… I can show it off."

"We're not out of the darkness yet," said Gabriella grimly. "And it's not just Voldemort we need to worry about. He has spies all through the forest and, Cho, you're their number one target and wearing white only advertises that fact. We have to get that cloak off you and find cover."

"I can't hide," said Cho. "Not before I take care of Jamie." She lifted him into her arms and stood.

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

"She wants to put him in the water."

"The water!" cried Ron. "Are you barmy?"

"No," said Hermione. "That glow… over there. See?" She pointed her finger over the falls and past the lake beneath to the south. All of them, even Cho with Jamie in her arms, turned to see. It didn't take long to realize there was a contingent of over three hundred wizards marching toward them. In their number was a handful of giants and leading them through the forest were about twenty Centaurs. They were a good three miles away down the mountain and moving toward the lake.

"You got to be kidding me," breathed Ron. "I knew they'd be close, but I didn't think they were going to go for a swim. If they get near the lake… Bloody hell."

"Sirius sent them this way," said Hermione. "He thought the water could protect them if the dragons attacked." Gabriella's jaw clenched and she grabbed Hermione by the shoulder.

"Listen to me. The dragons won't—"

The forest swirled about them. They were standing in the same place, only everything was somehow different. The night was not so bright and the energy that had been swirling about them only a moment ago had vanished. There was a splash and they both turned to see Harry stepping out of the water, holding a child in his arms – _Jamie?_ He and the child were naked and Harry's expression was one of intense pain. The scene changed. The energy had returned. Hermione stood motionless. Gabriella still held her shoulder, but then suddenly dropped her hand to her side, fear filling her eyes. Ron and Cho, unaware of the mental connection that had just taken place, were still looking at the approaching army below.

"It's here," gasped Hermione. "Isn't it? This is the spot. This is the vision." She looked around and tried to take in a deep breath, recalling the sights and scents she had seen earlier in the year when both she and Harry had a glimpse of Gabriella's vision. Gabriella's eyes were terrified.

"We need to get the cloak off of her," she whispered. "We don't have much time!"

Hermione looked at Cho and back at Gabriella, trying to understand and then it became clear. From the back, Cho and Gabriella were the same height. They had the same build and the same black hair that swirled down to the same spot on their back. From behind, they could be twins.

Hermione gasped. "Cho? Cho!" she called. "Come away from the edge. Felspar said something about a stronghold. Is it nearby?"

"We can't go underground!" argued Ron. "Someone's got to go down there and tell them to keep away from the water's edge. Some wizard will go in for a drink and never come out again."

"Ron," said Hermione firmly, "the Centaurs won't let that happen. This is—"

"First, I take care of Jamie," said Cho. Once again she turned toward the river of magical water feeding the falls.

Ron moved to stop her, but he never had a chance. A blast of red light erupted from the trees behind them. A stunner knocked him to the ground; he was out. Another beam of red shot straight at Cho, but the robe deflected the spell like a mirror. She pulled Jamie in beneath the folds of the cloak and knelt low as Gabriella and Hermione pulled their wands and returned fire at the tree line.

"I can't see anything or anyone," whispered Gabriella as they crouched near the rocks.

"Neither can I," said Hermione. "Cho, stay down."

Four more spells were cast directly at Cho. Two struck true and both bounced away harmlessly.

"Is that it?" Cho cried looking at Gabriella with mistrust, not sure exactly where her wand should be pointed. "Is that why you wanted the cloak? Was it to protect yourself, or to make me more vulnerable? Who are the spies you spoke of, Gabriella?"

Gabriella's eyes narrowed and she stood. "You don't understand," she spat. Pointing her wand at the unseen attackers, she cried out something in Armenian and her wand erupted in a glistening blue light. When the light hit the trees, they burst into flame. Screams could be heard from behind the wall of fire and three Death Eaters ran forward, their bodies engulfed in flames. No one came to their aid as the screams quieted and they finally fell silent, smoke billowing up from their charred bodies.

"You need to get into the stronghold, Cho," insisted Hermione. "Where is it?"

Cho suddenly doubted who she should trust. "Where's Harry?" she asked nervously.

"At the castle," answered Hermione. "He's protecting the castle."

"No," breathed Cho. "That's a lie. He would never leave us alone."

"She's right," Gabriella agreed with Cho. "He's not at the castle." She rubbed the ring on her finger. The firestones began to glow brightly. "He's speaking with—"

More spells were cast from behind the burnt trees. All of them were stunners; none were meant to kill. Suddenly the air grew cold. Cho kept glancing nervously toward the water, trying to decide if she should make a run for it.

"Filth!" spat Gabriella. Above the trees a darkening cloud hovered toward them. Dozens of Dementors were moving closer. Ron was still unconscious on the ground and little Jamie, sensing the approaching evil, began to cry.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_ cried Hermione. An otter pushed back at the centre of the black cloud, but was swallowed by the sheer number of Dementors. Gabriella followed in kind with similar results.

"There are too many," exclaimed Hermione. "We have to move back." But there was no going back. They were pinned against the falls. Their only choice would be to go over, and that was no choice at all. She began to shiver, losing her ability to think of happy thoughts. Gabriella gasped. To their left a dozen Centaurs appeared. They drew arrows and fired into the sky. The arrows whizzed upward and struck the cloud, exploding into an enormous fireball. Dementors began to scream falling lifeless from the sky.

Another volley of arrows shot up from their right followed by a similar explosion. The Dementors tried to push forward, but the volleys came faster and faster. Soon the sky was on fire, streamers of burning light falling to the ground. The cold was filled with a tremendous heat.

It looked like, with the Centaurs help, they might be able to make a stand, though they still didn't know the number of enemy forces they were facing. Hermione moved to revive Ron, but before she could the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. The earth was shifting. What little space between them and the edge of the falls began to crumble away. Gabriella ran over and, together, they pulled Ron from the approaching cliff. A large rift to their right sent the herd of Centaurs that had been protecting them tumbling down the mountainside. The others began to back away and, in their confusion, they were trapped by a series of Incarcerous spells. The Dementors were gone, but the Death Eaters were alive and well behind the trees.

As if satisfied it had eaten enough, the rift to their right closed again and, in its place, the water feeding the falls began to pool into a small lake some fifty yards across. Hermione and Gabriella pulled Ron over to an outcropping of rocks that looked relatively stable and started toward Cho when she gasped, holding her hand over her mouth.

"_Expelliarmus!" _cried a familiar voice, cold and high. Both Hermione and Gabriella's wands flew from their hands. Only Cho held on to hers, the spell seemingly had no effect. On the other side of the newly formed lake a figure approached in dark robes surrounded by a number of wizards wearing Death Eater masks. The wizard looked irritated that the water was thwarting his way, but there was a contingent of his allies moving toward the witches from the near side of the lake; they were the Death Eaters that had just incarcerated the Centaurs.

As he moved closer, it was clear to see by the moon's light the pasty white face of Severus Snape. He held out his wand and without saying a word flicked it down. Hermione and Gabriella fell to the earth reaching for their throats, gasping for air.

"Hello, Miss Chang," he said with a greasy voice. "I'm sorry we have to meet like this, but I know you're a… bright girl. I'm not here to harm anybody. Your boy has something that I want and, when I'm done, you can have him back. No harm done, I swear."

"Liar!" Cho cried out across the waters. They seemed to ebb and burble at the words. "You'll kill him!"

"I'll do no such thing," Snape said calmly. "I'm no… monster." He moved closer, being careful to avoid the water's edge. "I can promise you this, however…" again he twirled his wand and tightened the stranglehold on Gabriella and Hermione. "If you don't hand me the boy right now, your friends will die."


	47. Twins

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 4****7 – Twins**

**~~~***~~~**

Three years ago, Harry flew for his life – chased by a Hungarian Horntail fiercely protecting its clutch of eggs, a singular golden orb hidden among them. Her scales were black and her eyes were yellow and, at the time, Harry thought them evil. Now, instead of staring up at hundreds and hundreds of faces from the crowd, he stood surrounded by seven such dragons, an emissary to the magical link the Wizarding world had with these great creatures. Their eyes were also yellow, each with a distinctive hue, and they bore no ill-will. He wondered why he hadn't noticed the same bravery, the same wisdom, the same kindness before. Conceivably, it was Harry that was growing wiser.

The Votary stood as the servants of the dragons and he was their unworthy leader. Others of that Order had worked decades with Singehorn and his kin. Some like Dakhil had served for centuries, but Harry had only just joined the Votary. Yet, the dragon leader saw something in him that was commendable. What it was, Harry had yet to learn, but this much at least he knew – the magnificent dragon wounded before him had a great role to play in the events that were about to unfurl. Already, ghosts were swirling about their position as if something might happen at any moment. The young dragon, Tûzkár, swatted at them with his tail, but to no effect.

Overhead, the comet Ebyrth burned as brightly as ever. So much so, in fact, that Mars was nowhere to be seen. The moon, unwilling to be outdone, seemed to puff out a bit and appeared unnaturally large in the sky above, blanketing the night with a sea of light. It was enough to reveal that Singehorn's chest had been slashed badly. Claw marks crisscrossed and blood seeped freely from the wounds, dripping to the charred forest floor.

Harry wanted to talk about the ghosts. He wanted to do what he could to stop the Centaur village behind him from burning. He wanted to defend Hogwarts against the onslaught of darkness descending upon it. He wanted to run to the falls to protect his family and friends. There was so much to explain, so much to do and so little time, but first Harry had to heal the dragon that had risked his life to save them all. He stepped forward.

"Let me—"

"You'll do know such thing, Harry," Singehorn growled; Harry's ring helped him understand perfectly. "I already know what you did this evening for the girl. Your strength, even with the stone, needs replenishment."

"True," Harry agreed, rubbing his hand over the chest wound that still had not fully healed. A vision of Draco Malfoy spilt into his thoughts and Harry quickly tossed them aside, unwilling to face the contempt he was feeling. "Or, at least, it _was_ true. Tanwen told me to use the stone to catch the dragonfire of the Chinese Fireballs. I did and I don't need to check to know that its energy pulsates, waiting to be released. I won't need to use much of my own to help heal your wounds, Singehorn. You are not of the Votary; hence, it is not forbidden."

The great dragon growled and, without asking permission, Harry summoned the stone into his hand and whispered the incantation, "Bravery… Wisdom… Love."

The dragon's injuries were extensive, but the stone's energy helped weave the wounds together without much direction on Harry's part; all that is except for a small stain of green near the dragon's heart. Try as he might, Harry couldn't remove it. Finally, unwilling to risk more of his own energy, Harry retreated. The circle of dragons spun about as he fell to his knees.

"You weren't supposed to use your own power!" chided Tanwen.

"Only a little," offered Harry weakly. Singehorn stood, raised his neck toward the sky and roared. Harry could see he was both pleased and perturbed at the same time. As the young wizard elevated to one knee he sensed that Dakhil was gone; turning he confirmed it was true. The vampire was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Dakhil," he asked to no one in particular. "I couldn't have been gone more than a moment. Where did he go?"

"I assumed _you_ knew," Singehorn said with significantly greater strength in his voice now. "The moment you used the stone, he vanished."

Harry was curious why Dakhil had left, but thought he might know the reason why. The old vampire was still holding a grudge. Certainly Dakhil thought that he should have been the Primate of the Votary, not Harry. He probably didn't care to watch as Harry used both the Ring of Onyx and the Heart of Asha to help care for their leader. It was understandable, if a bit petty. No matter… Harry had other concerns.

"Singehorn," he began with a grave tone. "About your heart… There's a—"

"I know, Harry. I know," Singehorn interrupted. "It is no injury. It is simply the clock of my fate. There is nothing you can do to set me apart from my destiny with the stars."

"The stars?" Harry asked.

"Great dragons…," began Tanwen.

"Truly great dragons," corrected Drahmir.

"Yes. Truly great dragons," continued Tanwen, slightly irritated, "when they die, are raised to the heavens."

"Wizards believe in something similar," said Harry. "They believe—"

"No, you misunderstand," interrupted Tanwen. "The gr— truly great dragons are raised to the heavens for all the universe to see. Not their bodies of course, but their fire, the essence of all dragons. It is not another plane of existence, or an alternate reality. Their fires are set anew in the heavens above us. They become a star."

"A star?" Harry asked in disbelief. "Like… a star – star?"

"True enough," said a cold, stern voice suddenly at Harry's side. A hairy arm was raised above Harry's head. It held a bow with an arrow notched and aimed directly at Tanwen's heart. It was Firenze, and his eyes burned with anger. His coat was lathered with sweat and he smelled of fury. "The Centaurs have known of your blessing since the early times. We once thought you noble creatures; tonight has changed all that. At this range, I'm certain to send three, or four of your kind to see if they are _truly_ great dragons. Somehow I doubt we'll see the birth of any new stars sprouting forth from your demon blood."

"Firenze," said Harry with a hushed voice.

"Tell me, _dragon_," said Firenze, still starring at Tanwen, his jaw clenched. "Did you _enjoy_ burning my home to the ground? Were you laughing as you breathed fire to incinerate the homes of my kin? Are you disappointed that our mares and our young escaped and you spilt no blood? Or were you unaware, you stupid beast, that the herd knew of your devilry long ago."

Tanwen shifted and Firenze made to let the arrow go, but Harry stayed his hand. Firenze looked down upon him fiercely. "I've killed three of their kind tonight already. They are swift in the air, but on the ground, from this distance… one arrow each will do. They're not much more than overgrown chickens after all."

"These aren't the ones that attacked Terntalag, Firenze," said Harry quickly. "They've come to help. I swear. Look to the east and you'll find the guilty." Harry pointed toward the dead Chinese Fireballs. "It is unlikely that any new stars were born this evening on _their_ account."

Uncertain and still aiming the notched arrow directly at Tanwen, Firenze looked down at Harry and then toward the direction the wizard was pointing. Slowly he said, "I was told specifically by Magorian not to question you tonight, Harry Potter." He ground his teeth without saying a word more and disappeared. Before Tanwen could ask where he'd left to, he had returned, a shimmering green scale in his hand. This time, his bow was strapped to his back.

Firenze looked up at the black dragons before him and then back at the green scale. They were clearly different. He nodded his head in approval and then turned to Harry.

"This one…" He held up the green scale. "…has been gutted by another great beast." He looked keenly at Tanwen, noting the blood that still trickled down her neck. "It is a strange war indeed. You speak to them?" Firenze asked. "They understand you?" Harry nodded. Fearless, Firenze stepped toward Tanwen and held the green scale up.

"Is this then my enemy? Is this the dragon that attacked Terntalag?"

Harry translated and Tanwen nodded, bowing her head slightly, a puff of smoke issuing from her nostrils.

"The enemy of my enemy is my ally," said Firenze with far less passion in his voice. "I am in your debt and, if there is ever a way I can repay it, I will honour that alliance." He paused, unsure how he might continue. Finally, he found the words.

"Now, however, I must ask yet another favour of you. I have led many wizards to this place and they will be here shortly. As you may know, Wizards are not as level headed as Centaurs. On our way, we have been attacked by many dragons bearing this same scale. We have defeated those who would challenge us, but another foe is close behind – Dementors. There are too many to keep pressing through the forest with our injured and our bows are too few. I would need but two of your fire breathers to send them to their doom. Would you help us?"

The other dragons looked at Singehorn. It was not their nature to meddle in the affairs of wizards. The pleadings of Centaur held little more importance. The Hungarian's willingness to stop the attack on Terntalag was more coincidence than desire. The Horntails were out for blood and the Fireballs happened to be above the village. Even so, their leader shifted his weight and the ground rumbled.

"What says the Primate?" asked Singehorn, looking intently at Harry. But Harry didn't hesitate.

"I would ask you send two – Drahmir and Talisan," Harry said. "Two will suffice and not frighten the wizards more than they already have been." Then he turned to the Centaur. "Firenze, you'll need to send word that the battle has changed. It is not what I was led to believe. The Horntails are joining us and, at the castle, perhaps the Hebredean Blacks. The wizards need to know the difference and, if they don't, they should keep their wands sheathed. That goes for the Centaur herd as well."

"The Covens are but a mile away, Harry Potter," said Firenze coolly. "Before the next shooting star, the entire forest will know." Firenze turned the scale about in his hand, the moon's light shimmering from its surface, squeezed it once as if imbuing it with the anger he would not show, and slipped it away into the leather pouch that hung at his side. Before Harry could thank him, the Centaur disappeared toward the south.

"Tanwen," said Harry, looking up to his enormous friend, "thank you for your patience. Your wisdom in not striking will go a long way towards Singehorn's plan."

The dragon bowed her head slightly, but said naught else. She, more than the others, could see the hatred in Firenze's eyes. Harry wondered if she were convinced that the Centaur would keep his word. With over a hundred wizards marching toward them, they were extremely exposed squatting on the ground and surrounded by trees.

"We should all take to the air," she offered Singehorn.

"As the Primate has spoken, Drahmir and Talisan will attack the Dementors chasing the wizards our way," said the dragon leader. "If we destroy that which drives them forward, we will have more time to heal our wounded. Igneus and Rakesh are weak and need rest, if only for a moment." Harry looked at the two great brothers and, scratches aside, could not discern anything of significance wrong with either of them. Rakesh began to protest and Singehorn growled, cutting him short.

"Erm… yes, Singehorn," Rakesh rumbled. "I'm not sure I have any fire left in me and… em… my tail aches."

"Then it is decided," said Singehorn. "Make haste!" Drahmir and Talisan nodded and, unfolding their massive leathery wings, took to the sky, swirling the ash that hung in the air from the burning village. Harry also noticed that the nearby ghosts seemed to move in the gust of wind, almost as if they had substance.

"Fire will fill the sky!" roared Drahmir as he flew south.

Harry looked at Singehorn. "By making the problem your own," he suggested, "you had justification to act… to choose sides."

"Sides? Life, Harry," said the great dragon, "has many sides – not one, not two, but a number of facets which, depending on how the light strikes, reveal a spectrum of colours that spans the rainbow. All too often, wizards seek the absolute, because they like the cleanliness of 'choosing sides' – left or right, good or evil, black or white. They're unwilling to shade the lights and brighten the darks, unable to add the colours that make life's choices so difficult. And while, sometimes, the choice before us is clear, when life and death hang in the balance, it should never be easy. My failure is proof enough of that."

There was another rustling in the bracken as someone approached, but even before she appeared, Harry knew who it was. Somehow he was linked to the members of the Votary. Just as he knew that, at this moment, Dakhil Barghouti was filled with anticipation, so too did he know that Katana was overcome with relief at the sight of the flight of dragons before her.

"You're safe!" she cried out breathlessly, stepping out of the trees. The flames of the village flickered off the sweat of her brow. "I thought… perhaps the Centaur…"

"Katana!" called Singehorn. "It is good to see you well! But should you not be in the East, searching the world as is the rest of the Order?"

"You sent the Order away on some ruse of a treasure hunt!" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "That's why I have only sensed Dakhil. Why did you scatter them across the globe?"

"It was not safe here. I was only trying to protect them, Harry. The Votary may be able to withstand dragonfire, but your flesh may still be slashed with a well placed talon."

"Dakhil gave us the orders," gasped Katana, a thin smile upon her face. "He is not a good liar." She was panting, and her left side was covered in blood, gluing together the rings of her chain-link mail. Still, she walked in among them proud and, as she drew near, her tremendous white smile erupted, glowing in the night. There was a large gash on her shoulder that had been hastily healed and looked like it might open again at any moment. Harry was about to treat her when Tanwen bent low and blew flame upon the wound. For a dragon, it was a whisper of a flame and it reminded Harry of a mother that might kiss a boo-boo… not that Aunt Petunia ever paid him the same kindness. When it was over, the wound was healed and Katana placed her hand on Tanwen's snout in gratitude.

"I understand why you did not want the others here," she said solemnly. "I would not have believed it myself, if not for my own eyes." She took in a deep breath, regaining her strength. She had run hard to be so close behind Firenze. "The Fireballs attacked us… attacked me though I reached out and signalled our intentions of peace."

"Madness has consumed our friends," said Singehorn. "It consumed me as well, though I see more clearly now. It will take many years to repair the trust that has been destroyed here today."

"You would go back to the old alliance?" asked Harry, incredulously. "Even after all they—"

"_They_, Harry," interrupted Singehorn, "is not all Fireballs. Ti-Lung was hungry for vengeance and thirsty for power, not unlike your Dark Lord. We are all ready to be free of the shackles of wizards. Giants do not fare much better at the hands of your kind. Would you condemn _all_ giants because a few battle against you this evening in service to a madman?" Harry shook his head. "No, I thought not," said Singehorn pleased with Harry's response, though he expected no other. "Anymore than I would condemn all wizards because of the pain a few have caused the dragons."

"Quite a few," added Tanwen. Singehorn looked at her and nodded.

"True enough." He let go a forlorn breath and glanced toward the south. "And while I have faith that those of your kind approaching do so in friendship…

"Tanwen, your words, as always, are wise. You and the others take to the air. Stay vigilant; you are not the only creatures of power flying on this night. Rakesh, I hope your fire has returned." Without speaking Rakesh raised up and roared at the stars. An enormous burst of flame issued forth. Harry could sense the creatures about him recoil in fear.

Following the flame to its tip, Singehorn looked up at the lights burning bright overhead, not unlike a Centaur. "Harry and I have some things we must attend to." Tanwen nodded. As she and the others began to lift off, swirling a hoard of ghosts out of their way, Harry could sense Singehorn calling him and Katana to the other plane.

When they arrived, the great stone steps that Harry had climbed when first he met Singehorn and been destroyed. Great crags of rock were strewn about the desert landscape, being reclaimed by the wind and sand. Katana was dressed in a white gown, but Harry wore red, a symbol that he was Primate of their Order. It felt awkward. There was clearly a formalism that Harry had not yet embraced. For his part, Singehorn the man wore robes of cobalt blue that shimmered like the sea. He towered above them both, but his eyes were smiling.

"What has happened here?" asked Harry.

"This…" Singehorn gestured with a wave of his arm. "This is what I have built. This is what, by my own hand, I have destroyed. I doubt I'll have the time I need to restore it to its glory. That task will be left to Tanwen."

"Tanwen?"

"Do you not approve, Harry?" asked Singehorn in return.

"No… er… I mean yes, but—"

"My time is near at hand," Singehorn interrupted. "I doubted that I would see the dawn, but you…" He patted his chest. "You have given me a while longer. Perhaps, there will be time to set things in motion – to restore peace among our kind. I hope you will guide Tanwen on such a path. If the Centaur had not been at your side this evening, I doubt she would have resisted the temptation to strike first. Tonight… as they fell from the sky... she did not need to utterly destroy our brethren and yet…" He sighed and sat down in the sand, crossing his legs. Harry and Katana did the same. "She is fiercely loyal. Will you help her, Harry?"

"I have sworn my allegiance and my oath is to serve."

"As is ours to you," said Singehorn. "I have chosen well, don't you think, Katana?" She nodded in agreement as Singehorn closed his eyes and bowed his head. Perspiration began to drip from his brow and Harry looked to Katana for some assurance, but she seemed as uncertain as he. Then, to the right of Katana appeared another figure in white robes – Merek – the Healer that had returned Harry's sight. He was followed by eight other members of the Votary. They all sat, adding to the circle with Harry and Katana. The last to arrive was Antreas Darbinyan, Gabriella's brother. He looked at Harry with surprise and concern, but Harry was unable to offer reassurance in return. In all, there were eleven members of the Votary present and one noticeably absent – Dakhil Barghouti. The sense of foreboding Harry had experienced earlier began to grow.

Singehorn wiped his brow with his sleeve and drew in a deep breath. Summoning the council had clearly taken a toll on the dragon, though how that manifested itself in the real world, Harry didn't know. Singehorn slipped his tongue across his sharp teeth and considered the words he was about to say.

"We have precious little time and there is much to accomplish. I am now in the West with Harry and Katana. There has been a fissure between the dragons and, at this time, we are no longer safe among the Chinese Fireballs. Nor would I put faith in the members of their Order. As you know, battles are rising up all over the world, none more dire than the one now upon us here in Great Britain."

"Singehorn," began Marek, "are there injured? Do you need aide?" This first question began an avalanche of questions and offers of assistance, none more strident than the pleas of Antreas to return to Britain.

"Enough!" roared Singehorn, silencing all conversation at once. "Your offers of aid are generous, well intentioned, but improperly focussed. I need your help, but not here in the forest behind Hogwarts Castle. All of you are scattered about the globe. It was not my original intent, but it will now pay in our favour. By now you will have discovered the secret rookeries hidden in the countries to which you've been sent. I need you to make a difference right where you are. You must try to convince any dragons that will listen of our plight. Where they exist, sway the thoughts of the members of their respective Orders. Word of tonight's events will have reached most, but not all. Those willing to lend aid are days away, unable to immediately offer tooth, talon and flame, but all know the old ways. Our Primate, Keeper of the Black Ring and Caregiver to the Heart of Asha, goes to battle the darkness, let them share their fire that we might purify this land.

"All must know that we do this, first and foremost, to unshackle ourselves from the yokes of wizards. It cannot be accomplished by flying the clouds to war. Instead, it begins by demonstrating our power and our compassion. Throughout, we will include those wizards that seek light above darkness, truth above deceit, love above hate. It is by these precepts we abide: Bravery… Wisdom… Love. So it was when the Great Alliance was made and so it will be again with all the Wizarding World. Now more than ever we must push back the darkness seeping into all corners of our world."

Without speaking, the various members nodded in agreement. Harry, as Primate, felt the need to affirm Singehorn's words. He did so and added, "If it is within my power, I will strike down the evil we now face before it can do more harm. But I will, above all, follow our code. I will not wield the power you have bestowed upon me needlessly, or recklessly. Bravery… Wisdom… and above all – Love. I failed you earlier this year; it will not happen again."

While he sensed that some members felt he should wield his power, no matter the cost, he saw a thin smile curl up at the corner of Katana's mouth. "Then it is decided," she said. Again all nodded, but Antreas looked as if he would burst.

"Singehorn," said Harry, "I would ask a favour of you. I know the Carpathians are far, but it would be best if Antreas join us in our battle as soon as he can arrive. He was the linchpin to our success protecting your home and, without Dakhil, Katana and I need another member of the Votary to represent the dragon's interests should it be needed. He is closest. There are three battle sites, hundreds of wizards and other magical beings and soon the Hebredeans will join our cause. I could sure use his wand here, steeped in the magic of Grigor Darbiyan. This war has many fronts and I am but one."

"So be it," agreed Singehorn, as relief washed over Antreas. "Though you will find, Harry, that you are not alone. You have made alliances that Dark minds can only dream of, and they will provide you powers that are unimaginable. Tonight, we all will be tested; what remains in the crucible will guide the fate of the next age."

With that the vision passed and Harry found himself back in the forest, face to face with Singehorn. Little time had passed. The other dragons were still just rising to the sky as the village behind him crackled and popped in the flames. The large Hungarian looked quite pleased with what had just come to pass and Harry could sense the welling of hope. Still, the dragon's eyes looked weary. Two ghosts swirled by, one a youth riding a skateboard and pushing it along through the air with one foot. It was the strangest… A flash of light caught Harry's eyes. It looked like wandlight.

"Singehorn," Harry said urgently. More lights began to flicker through the trees. He could hear voices in the distance. The wizards would soon be upon them. "The ghosts… they think I will lead them to heaven. But I think they have it wrong. I think that you—"

Harry's left hand suddenly burned; more specifically the ring finger of his left hand. He looked down and the etched band about his finger, the marking on the flesh itself, glowed red.

"Gabriella!" he cried in agony. Pain swept up his arm and into his shoulder, driving itself into his mind. At once he could feel her anguish, he could taste the wet dirt, he could sense the water and he knew she was surrounded by evil. She was in trouble and needed help. "She's at the falls! Voldemort is there!"

"Then you must run, Harry!" Singehorn said, stretching out his wings without hesitation to join the others in the sky. "You will be faster afoot. We will follow from the air. Go to her, but don't be brash. Be wise!"

Harry watched as the dragons spun once about and then followed their leader toward the falls. At the same moment wizards, giants and Centaurs burst through the trees, Firenze at the fore. Some paused momentarily to watch the dragons ascend and disappear, but most moved straight toward Terntalag, quenching the flames as quickly as they could. Firenze stopped at Harry's side.

"Your friends have left you," he said, pointing to the sky. "It was not necessary. The Dementors were defeated and the forest now knows the kindness they have shown us."

"They race to the falls," said Harry quickly. "As will I. Voldemort has come."

A few of the wizards heard the name and echoed it. Word spread quickly, but everyone held to the task at hand – saving the village. Harry was surprised to see Frank and Alice Longbottom leading them into the flames, their wands spraying water everywhere. For a moment Frank caught Harry's eye. His lips were tight with determination. He smiled, revealing wrinkles about his eyes that harkened back to happier memories, winked and disappeared into the flames. Harry wondered about Neville and again Draco crept into his mind.

"Go with haste, my friend," said Firenze. "Know this much at least… Felspar and Macleta are near. They will do whatever is in their power."

Harry turned to leave and ran head long into Ronan. His fur was wet with sweat and smelled burnt. Splotches of black goo were splattered all over his coat – Dementor blood. Harry wiped it from the side of his face.

"Ronan?"

"Hurry, colt!" he snapped, ignoring pleasantries. "Run with your—"

"—second sight," finished Harry. "Yes, I know." And before Ronan finished his bow, Harry plunged into the forest, running toward the falls and contracting space as best he could. His mind was set on where he needed to be and the trees and creatures of the forest swept past him – blurs of another world less perceptible than the wings of a hummingbird.

Harry's finger throbbed, sending jolts of pain up his arm. Flashes of what Gabriella was seeing, or sensing dashed across his mind. He ran faster, if that were possible, ignoring his disagreeable body. His arm became heavy as if a great vine of Devil's Snare was trying to pull him down. It worked its way up to his throat and he could feel it squeeze. As he struggled to pull in great gulps of air, it was difficult to remind himself that it wasn't he that was choking… it was Gabriella.

He shook his head, pushing the vision aside and drew in a deep breath. With his forearm he roughly wiped away the drips of sweat that were now running into his eyes. He tried to concentrate on the images that he was seeing through Gabriella's eyes, but the ghosts he kept passing through were too distracting. They were thick, like a swarm of mosquitoes thirsty for blood and, just like insects splatting against his goggles as he flew on his broom, Harry would splat into one and for an instant sense their joy, their apprehension, their sense of urgency. These and the images he was receiving from Gabriella collided into a great cacophony of thoughts. For the first time he began to appreciate what Ron felt when he couldn't shut out the voices he was hearing with his mind.

"Fo-cus!" he yelled at himself.

There was an image of Snape smiling, his yellow teeth cracked and gnarled. Dakhil… yes, Dakhil was there – impassive and stoic. That's how he looked on the outside, but inside was something quite different. Harry already had known the vampire's feelings were in tumult. Then he saw it – the cloak. Gabriella was wearing the… no it wasn't Gabriella… it was Cho. Jamie was in her arms. There was Ron… Hermione… Centaurs and Death Eaters….

As he grew near, the images became more clear, more intense. They were at the falls. Jamie was crying… _both_ Jamies…

Again, Harry shook his head; he was seeing twins. Cho was standing defiantly by the falls. No… Cho was standing by a large outcropping of rocks. Cho and… Cho. There were two Cho Changs, and each held a baby in their arms. Each wore a brilliant white cloak. "The Horcrux," Harry whispered to himself. "Draco was right."

Just as the muscles in his legs began to scream in protest, Harry started to smell the forest growing damper… danker. He knew this smell well. He slowed watching the path ahead closely with his second sight. To Harry it seemed like it had taken hours, but he covered the distance in minutes. The falls were only a hundred yards ahead, when a Centaur approached him quickly from the north. Her hand touched his shoulder.

"Harry Potter."

He blinked and looked up to see Macleta, her eyes more fierce than ever he had seen them before. _"Your mates are under attack by the Dark One who has come in from the north with two dozen of his followers. Their friends are no match for his skill with a wand. Some of my kin staved off an attack by Dementors, but the grounds are unsteady and many fell over the cliff to the rocks below. Others have been trapped by the Dark One's wizards. Felspar leads a contingent that is sweeping around the other side of the lake that has formed near the top of the falls. They will move in from the west and offer aid soon. These grounds continue to shift and all would do well to leave them quickly. Time is short. Below the falls, your kin have arrived. You know these waters are dangerous and many may be thirsty. It is an unfortunate combination. While the greater evil is before us, the greater danger lies below. Dozens could die. I will travel down the falls to your kinsmen for I know your fate with the darkness ahead has already been sealed."  
_

It was the most Harry had ever heard a Centaur speak in his life, and then he realized she hadn't said a word. She was speaking telepathically, an honour shared only between Centaurs. He nodded, pulled his wand and began to work his way closer to the clearing of the falls. Again Macleta stopped him.

"One thing more," she said and now her face bore an expression of confusion. "You have but two mates, is that not true?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry said.

"There is a third," said Macleta, "and she too bears a child in her arms; she is a twin to Cho Chang. When first she appeared, it confused me, and now it confuses the Dark One. One of them is a deceiver, Harry, but I now see her purpose. It will not be long before he realizes as well. Move quickly… move cautiously… know that our friends are near and, Harry, use your—"

"—second sight," he finished. With her bow ready in her left hand, she lowered her head and in a flash vanished to the south. For his part, Harry moved toward the sound of the rushing water. At first he used his second site to discern where the wizards ahead were. It was clear that Voldemort was flanked by about two-dozen Death Eaters, but no more. He was using stealth, deliberately travelling with a small contingent in hopes that all focus would be on his large army to the south that, even now, was attacking the castle walls. If he were successful here at the top of the falls, the wizards below would have no hope of defending against the torrent of dark magic that would rain down upon them.

He could smell the burning carcasses of Dementors, but his heart told him that there were more swirling deep in the trees behind. In his mind the water of the falls radiated like the sun and Harry had to forgo his second site to see anything near the water's shore. When he did, he saw Cho holding Jamie near the edge of the falls. Ron lay motionless on the ground and near him were Gabriella and Hermione, each holding their throats gasping for air.

He was about to rush in when another witch near his friends, wearing white robes shouted out a spell. Harry didn't understand it, but it sounded Chinese. The roots of the trees beneath Snape's feet sprang up and grasped him by the legs. Momentarily, the spell on Hermione and Gabriella was broken and they retrieved their wands. Then Harry's heart stopped. The witch that had just cast the spell was Cho Chang and in her arms was little Jamie. It was impossible.

She was standing alone on an outcropping of rocks. It was near Cho's hidden stronghold. The Cho near the falls seemed not to be confused that her identical twin was carrying an identical child and wearing an identical white robe, but Gabriella and Hermione were dumbfounded. Three blasts of red coming from Death Eater wands shot directly toward the Cho at the rocks and she let them strike her. They ricocheted harmlessly off her cloak like ping-pong balls.

"The cloak," Harry breathed to himself. "The Horcrux." Then he looked at the Cho near the falls. She too wore a white cloak. _But which one? And which Jamie?_

Pulling Ron with her, Gabriella knelt behind a large stone for protection. "Who are you?" she yelled at the new arrival.

"Cho!" yelled the one near the rocks. "She's an impostor!" She pointed at her twin near the fall's edge.

"Take them both!" cried Snape in exasperation as he slashed away at the tree roots still tangling his legs.

All this time, without realizing it, Harry had been moving closer and closer to the skirmish now before him. Gabriella was placing hands on Ron to help revive him. Hermione was trying to pull the one Cho away from the water's edge, but she refused to move as she struggled against little Jamie who was wriggling in her arms to be free. When he looked back at the Cho on the rocks… she was starring right back at him. No one else had seen him, but it was as if they were connected somehow. "Cho?" he lipped silently. Slowly, she set Jamie down and the child stood, clinging to his mother's leg. Her attention snapped to Snape.

"Harry will destroy you, Voldemort!" she cried. "You're just too blind to see!" She cast another spell and this time the trees behind him split in two, dividing like a single-celled amoeba. The space between trees was now half what it was an instant before. A few Death Eaters found themselves trapped behind, but the ones already near the Cho on the rocks continued to move toward her, albeit slowly. Cho Chang was accomplished, but such magic was beyond her.

"Your second vision…" Harry chided himself. He closed his eyes and looked toward them, examining each aura. The waters were blinding, but he could just make out his friends and family… Cho, Jamie, Gabriella, Ron, Hermione and at the rocks, more siscernable because she was further from the water's edge, a rainbow of colours that could only be… Nymphadora Tonks. Clinging to her legs was Dobby the house elf, a small beacon of energy compared to that of the wizards about him. How she had done it, Harry didn't know.

What he did know was that Voldemort would uncover the deception soon enough. She couldn't keep the ruse up indefinitely. Instead, she was using tactics to distract, to buy… "Time," Harry whispered. Sirius said he'd be at the falls in two hours and… how long had it been?

"Call for them, Gabriella!" Tonks yelled to Harry's wife. His love pointed her wand to the heavens and cast a beam of blue light that shimmered and sparkled like the tail of a comet. She was summoning the dragons; she didn't know they were already on their way. He needed to help them… to offer more confusion, to purchase them more time. As much as he wanted to rush in, wand blazing, he knew he'd never win a duel against Voldemort. He never had.

"_Play it smart, Harry,"_ he whispered Sirius' words to himself. If there was another, larger plan in play, Harry would do just that. "Someone I've been close with," Harry said smiling to himself. "Easy." Concentrating on Cho Chang he metamorphosed into her shape. His unruly locks straightened and stretched down his back. He bleached his robes white and enchanted them with a shield charm. The charm would work for a few spells, but not all night and not against a Killing Curse, but Voldemort knew that history. He would never attempt it again. Then he picked up a large stone and transformed it into something resembling a squirming child. He wrapped it in his cloak to conceal his somewhat pathetic attempt of transfiguration. Professor McGonagall would not have been pleased. Finally, he took only a few steps into the clearing on the side of the small lake nearest Voldemort, choosing again to use his normal vision. For this he would need to see Snape's eyes so that he could know the reaction.

"Have you come for _my_ child, Voldemort?" Harry cried. "Or do you desire all that remains of your eternal soul?" Harry rubbed the cloth of his robe between his fingers. He half expected to be blasted, but Snape's eyes kept darting from one Cho Chang to the other. Ordinarily the Dark Lord would have been able to discern the difference at once, but not, for some reason, on this night. It may have been the purifying energy of the waters pooling all around, or some mind trick Dakhil was playing at his side. Perhaps it was something more, something Sirius knew was about to happen. Harry could see that Snape did not look well. He took another step into the clearing.

Three Cho Changs stood at the top of the falls hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest. Each held a child, but only one held the child Voldemort coveted. What Dakhil's role was, Harry couldn't discern. It was unsettling to watch him quickly help Snape to his feet, freeing him from the roots that had ensnared him. He then cast a spell turning the loamy earth to stone, blocking any second attempt at the same magic. _Could they have been allies all this time? _Snape nodded to Dakhil and quickly regained his composure. He had a number of Death Eaters at his side and still more trapped behind the trees, searching for a way to join their master.

"Bring me the boy!" he hissed. Harry thought he meant James, but instead Dakhil walked backward toward the trees, reached through an opening too small for any full-grown wizard and pulled out a Hogwarts second year student – James Chang, Cho's brother.

The moon was near its apex in the night sky and just to its right roared the comet Ebyrth. Its tail seemed to curl and Harry wondered if it hadn't just missed the red planet. Ghosts began to swirl about the clearing, moving in and out of the trees and with each passing moment, their number grew. The light was intense and in that light Harry could see James Chang's eyes. They were open, but blank. He looked like a walking corpse. Harry could hear Hermione shudder near the falls. Cho took a step forward, but Tonks deliberately pre-empted her.

"Leave my brother alone, you bastard!" she cried. She grabbed the white cloth in her hands. "Touch one hair on his head and I'll destroy this! I swear I will!"

"Liar! The cloak is mine to destroy!" yelled Harry in return, hoping it might keep Voldemort off centre.

"Ladies," said Voldemort with a smug bow. "Did you think that Patrick O'Riley was the only weak minded wizard I left a little… _gift_ with?" He began to chuckle, straightening his robes. "Which one of you truly loves their brother?" The chuckle turned to laughter and in between guffaws Voldemort began an incantation. Suddenly, Gabriella stood, dropping her wand at her feet. A moment later, Ron also stood at her side.

"No!" yelled Hermione, "Ron. RON!" But Ron's eyes were blank, his face expressionless and, together with Gabriella, he began to walk along the edge of the small lake toward Voldemort.


	48. The Death of Harry Potter

* * *

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 4****8 – The Death of Harry Potter**

**~~~***~~~**

The night of the full moon was as bright as day and the pooling water feeding the falls shimmered beneath the fierceness of Ebyrth. The comet's tail curled in an unnatural way about the planet Mars. Was it some strange gravitational pull, or was something greater at work? Ebyrth had passed the god of war and it appeared that the planet would be untouched by the comet's fire. Ebyrth, unwilling to surrender, seemed to reach out in one last desperate attempt, but it was to no avail. There would be no grand collision this evening. The cycle would remain unbroken and the war between Centaur and Dementor would continue again when next the comet returned. Worse yet, Mars, unchecked and undamaged, would continue to grow brighter as it neared the earth, an increasing cycle of violence that the Centaurs knew all too well.

Along the water's edge, Ron and Gabriella walked toward Snape, Voldemort's host. His white face was more pale than ever and his shoulders were hunched. He appeared more aged by the moment, but he refused assistance, revelling in the death that was about to be dealt out. At his side Dakhil Barghouti continued to smoke his cigar, twirling it in his fingers in eager anticipation. In front of them, James Chang stood, as lifeless and zombie-like as Ron and Gabriella. The three of them had been hosts to Voldemort's evil and somehow he had left a controlling curse that would spell their doom as it had Patrick O'Riley's.

Behind the trees Death Eaters still struggled to rejoin their master. Only a few were free, standing near Tonks who still resembled Cho Chang. They had been commanded not to attack her for fear they might harm the child – Voldemort's last hope of regaining his true form. Harry, who also transfigured to resemble Cho, was the closest to Voldemort and he rolled his wand in his fingers considering Dakhil's true intentions. Harry could see that the vampire's emotions were as heightened as ever, but what did that mean? He stepped closer with his rock that almost resembled a small child, but upon close inspection would look more like a squiggling cantaloupe with eyes. He tucked it further within the flaps of his cloak.

Hermione crouched low next to Cho who held James tightly in her arms. They were nearest the edge of the falls and had no way to escape. Harry wished he could get to them, but the magical lake was pooling between them and he wasn't willing to risk what might happen if he should fall in those waters again.

Unable to stand still any longer, Hermione ran to grab Ron, but was repelled by some sort of protection charm. "Ron!" she screamed. "Ron!"

"Hermione, stay back near the rocks!" commanded Tonks. "You're too exposed!"

No sooner had she said the words than a Death Eater cast a stunner. It flew at Hermione whose eyes narrowed as it approached. With the instincts of a cat, Hermione deflected it deliberately toward Voldemort, forcing him to use a shield charm and duck. Unable to move as quickly as he would like, his body recoiled when the spell struck and the action caused him to grimace. Clearly he was in some sort of pain. When he straightened, his eyes were on fire.

"I had considered killing James first," he said with a sneer, "but perhaps I shall kill your fiancée for your impudence! A shame really; he was my most worthy adversary. Not even Potter matched his skill. Where is your _friend_ anyway? Perhaps friend's not the right word, if he won't dare to show himself. I suspect he's finally realized his place – cleaning the Centaur shit holes."

Again, Harry stepped forward. From across the water, Tonks noticed and slightly shook her head. She motioned that he should move toward Cho and away from Voldemort. He wasn't sure what she meant since it was impossible for him to cross the water. That position would place him directly opposite Tonks; they would be like goalposts on opposite sides of the falls. He was about to shake his own head in opposition when he heard a faint voice calling his name.

"_Harry!"_

It was thin… less than a wisp of a cloud.

"_Harry__. Where are you?"_

Harry looked to the forest and then to the waters. Ghosts were swirling about, but this voice was familiar, though distant. He closed his eyes and reached out his mind taking in all the life forms around him. Seeing Gabriella's aura almost made him sick. It was weak as if she were giving up her life force to the cosmos. He then looked at Ron's and…

"_Harry__. Are you here?"_

Ron's was burning brightly. He opened his eyes and fixed them on his best friend. Barely perceptible, behind his right ear, what looked like a large vein was protruding. Harry hadn't seen that since last year. Ron must have been using the massive energy churning about the falls to amplify his mental skills, but it was taking the same physical toll as last time. Somehow he was shielding Voldemort's control in a ruse to… well, Harry didn't know why.

"_Ron!"_Harry called back across the bridge that his friend had erected for him. _"I'm here!"_ They knew this dance well and once they were connected the conversation could have been as simple and as clear as sitting before the hearth in the Gryffindor common room.

"Where's here?" Ron asked, still keeping his face blank and his shoulders slack as he proceeded with Gabriella toward Voldemort.

"I'm… erm… I'm Cho," answered Harry awkwardly.

"No shit, Sherlock? Which one?"

"Across the water."

Ron deliberately tripped on a stick so that he could turn and get a look at Harry on the other side of the small lake. Harry swore he saw a twinkle in his eyes that vanished the moment he began to turn away.

"Don't worry," Ron said. "I'll break his hold on her and, after that, I'm taking him down. I just need to get… a little closer."

Ron and Gabriella were about twenty yards away. They looked like the walking dead and no one knew what to do. As they drew closer, Ron's eyes remained locked on Voldemort who was more interested in the three children, one of which was his prey.

"Damn," he communicated to Harry. "He looks weak; you could blow him over with a feather."

"Don't underestimate him, Ron!"

"I did that once already. It won't happen again."

Harry considered Patrick's words about how Ron could defeat Voldemort, but if that was the case, the prophecy was wrong… Dumbledore was wrong. He watched as Ron drew closer… ten yards… Eventually, Harry could no longer sit idly. He had to move in.

"Ron, I can't let you do this. He'll kill you."

"For once in your life, Harry, keep your wand in your pants!" Ron hissed back, giving Harry a mental shove while the redhead stepped ever closer. "I can… I can hear his thoughts… barely… there we go… _Yes!_ He wants Jamie, but… now that he's seen it, he wants the cloak too. He knows its power, but there's something more. Just a little… closer."

Watching Gabriella move with arm's reach of Voldemort was more than Harry could bear. He began to move in. "Ron, I'm—"

There were shrieks from the others, a '_Swoop!'_, and suddenly Harry's feet were leaving the ground. Long talons clasped tightly about his shoulders – one claw digging into the wound on Harry's chest. Blood began to drip down the front of his imitation white robes. He'd been taken up by Draco, in full vampire form, and in his surprise Harry dropped his rock-child to the ground. The stone began to scream loudly and then sprouted legs and ran into the forest. It all happened so quickly, no one noticed that Jamie was nothing more than a transfigured rock. What they did see was that little Jamie, if he was the right little Jamie, was disappearing into the trees and Merlin only knows what kind of dangerous creatures. A dead Jamie was no use to the Dark Lord.

"STOP HIM!" cried Voldemort, his voice high, but thin. For a moment, Harry thought he was talking about Draco, carrying him around the falls as if her were a rag-doll taking a tourist ride, but he was pointing instead to Harry's little rock-child. Evidently, he hadn't noticed that it was a fake.

Harry fumbled with the black ring on his right hand. "I can _make_ you put me down, Draco." In response Draco carried him over the edge of the falls, just above the sharp jagged rocks below.

"Would _here_ work?" Draco drawled, chuckling in a very beastly sort of way. He briefly loosened his grip, then dug his talons in more tightly than ever. "You're such a drama queen, Potter. And what's with the Cho Chang getup? It's really a crappy disguise. I would recognize your ass from a mile away. _HE_ didn't notice. Did you notice he didn't notice?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Of course you wouldn't notice; too busy worrying about _her_." Harry dangling from his clutches, Draco turned toward Voldemort and Dakhil, unwilling to trust either of them. "I'm talking about our chance, Potter; our opportunity. Something's wrong."

"Draco! What are you doing?" The words came from Dakhil in yet another unspoken tongue – vampiric. They were sharp and biting.

"What?" questioned Draco silently in return. "You didn't think I'd find you out? You didn't think I'd discover your change in allegiance?" He roared, flapping higher into the air. Unlike Dakhil, Draco's words were pitched high. They were bitter and sad. "If you've taken his side old man, then so shall I!" He kept flying higher. "I don't care how great a wizard Potter is; he still can't fly without a broom!" Draco brought his cheek next to Harry's. The smell of dried blood filled the air. "Can you, Potter?" he whispered.

Suddenly, Draco turned and started to dive straight toward Voldemort, Dakhil and the others. "Want to feel speed, Potter?" He accelerated. "Ten times faster than the P2," he spat. "If he doesn't save your life, I'll know. Either way, know that I'll finish the job."

The wind was screaming in their faces. Below, only Dakhil was looking their way. The others were fixed upon the distant forest into where Harry's rock-child had run.

"You're being foolish, boy!" cried Dakhil. "Put him down!"

"Oh, he's going down," said Draco with a toothy grin. "This time, for the last time!"

Draco released Harry like a missile hurtling toward the earth in front of Snape's feet. Dakhil slipped out his wand, but didn't hold it up. Instead, he pointed it down so no one would see. Though the wind was blinding Harry's eyes, he saw a blue light strike the earth below. He hoped that was a good thing, or this was going to hurt.

"_Retardus!"_ Harry cried out, hoping to slow down. The spell was too little, too late. Its only real effect was to draw everyone's attention to the sky. They all cast shield charms, thinking for an instant that it might be an attack, just as Harry smashed into the dirt. He was expecting a crunch, but the earth gave way and he sunk some two feet into the wet loam. Draco came to a gentle stop at his side. Directly to the vampire's left stood Ron, James and Gabriella – statuesque spectators.

"The Malfoy boy!" said Voldemort, curiously enamoured with Draco's form. "I had heard you were… turned." He stepped closer to the pit of muck that Harry had just made. "I understand your anger at the girl, Draco," Voldemort said tenderly. "I understand that you think she should pay for what she did to your father." Then a flash of anger flushed his face.

"_Crucio!"_ Voldemort cried. Draco was down on his knees, screaming in pain. "But I gave specific instructions to leave these ladies alone until—"

"This one's… no… lady, my lord," said Draco with an indistinguishable growl. The pain stopped. "It's Potter!"

Dakhil began to translate. "He said—"

"I know what he said," Voldemort cut him off. Though his mind was a bit cloudy, he was a good enough Legilimens that he understood what Draco had been trying to say.

"My lord!" cried one of the Death Eaters from near the trees where Harry once stood. "We've captured the… the boy!"

One of the Death Eaters brought Harry's rock-child over to their master and held it up so he could see it. He began to laugh. "Your son, Potter?" Voldemort heckled. "HE must be. You share the same thick expression and dull intellect; as it was with _your_ parents, now that I think about it. Right off the old rock pile." Voldemort held out his wand and cast the killing curse, shattering the stone into dust and killing the Death Eater holding it in the process. Ignoring the wizard as he crumpled to the ground, Voldemort muttered, "One down… two to go."

Harry transformed back and pushed himself out of the soggy earth, wiping the mud from his face. He'd twisted his ankle, but there were no broken bones. Pure hate flamed from his eyes as he looked up at… Draco. "You'll die before the sun rises, Malfoy." He spat into the vampire's face.

"I had heard you were… friends," said Voldemort, looking closely into Draco's eyes and then into Harry's. Both bore nothing but animosity for the other. "Clearly there's no love lost here." He stepped over to Harry, holding his wand just under Harry's chin. "I wish you could be there, Potter, when I am born again. Your child's blood… a little magic… By Morgana, perhaps I'll even take this one." He stroked Gabriella's hair. "She will certainly have her uses, or haven't you discovered them yet?" He jabbed his wand tighter into Harry's throat. "I've waited all year to say good-bye… Harry Potter."

Voldemort planted his feet in the earth, drawing from what energy it would give him. His eyes were filled with hate.

In the distance, Hermione cried out, "Severus… no!"

His wand ready to explode with green light, Snape's hand began to tremble. He brought the left over to the right to regain control, but the shaking became worse. Slowly, the wand pulled away from Harry and pointed into the air. Snape spun staring at the redhead who had stepped in front of Gabriella and was looking straight into his eyes.

"_YOU!"_ he screeched in a high, cold voice.

"Time to dance, Tommy boy!" whispered Ron.

The remaining Death Eaters were stepping somewhat away from their master and only those nearby could clearly see what was going on. Ron and Voldemort were having a mental go of it. Harry could see the gnarls of nerves winding about the nape of Ron's neck. Immediately, the hold on James and Gabriella was broken.

"Run," Ron hissed. "I can't…" His eyes twitched; a drip of blood pooled in the corner of one eye and trickled down the side of his face. "Damn it, run!"

Gabriella looked over to see her love standing in front of her. "Harry?" she asked disoriented and in disbelief. She wrapped her arms about him. They kissed, but Harry quickly pulled away.

"Get out of here!" he commanded. "Both of you! Run!"

They took only a few steps when Dakhil raised his wand.

"_Incarcerous!"_ he cried, wrapping both Gabriella and James in ropes.

"What are you doing?" cried Harry. "He cast a spell that freed the two and they began to run, again." Dakhil cast another spell and missed as they went to join Tonks who was still disguised as Cho, standing near the door to the stronghold. Dakhil simply grunted as if he'd missed a rabbit and that there would be more.

"Pain?" replied Ron to an unheard question. Harry's attention turned to his best friend. "I'll show you pain!" Voldemort dropped suddenly to one knee and cried out in agony. "Do you know what you've done to me? DO YOU KNOW!"

Voldemort fell to two knees. While the whites of Ron's eyes had turned red to match the colour of his hair, blood began to trickle out of Snape's ears.

"Ron!" said Harry. "Ron, stop, you're killing—"

"Leave them, boy," snapped Dakhil. "If you interrupt now, they both could lose themselves in the other's mind. Detached, they could die. They could _both_ die."

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Dakhil and then at Draco, moving it back and forth between the pair he said, "You! How could you? You're a traitor to the Votary, to Singehorn. And you, by all that is holy, how—"

There was a familiar hiss. Harry turned to see the arrow coming. He tried to react, but it was too late. It pierced Ron in the right shoulder, spinning him to the ground. If there was such a thing as an abrupt interruption, that was it. Harry looked up to see two Centaurs standing in the clearing – Bane and Shahan. Bane had cast the arrow. From this distance he would have easily killed Ron, if that had been his intent. _What was he up to?_

"Ron!" Hermione screamed. Tonks sent out a blast of red light that struck the Centaur, dropping him to the ground. Hermione cast another at Shahan who moved out of the way. Not sated, she began to attack the half-dozen Death Eaters that were near Tonks. They returned fire. In seconds, everyone was firing spell after spell. Huge chunks of earth and stone were ripped and torn and flying with blasts of light. Draco pulled his wand to join the fray, but Dakhil stayed his hand, taking a quick glance up to the moon.

"You will know the proper target when the time is right," said Dakhil with his gravelled voice. Harry looked up to see that the moon was near its apex.

He ran to Ron's side, hoping he could stop the bleeding and heal the wound. He was surprised to find that the arrow was neither poisoned nor enchanted, nor had it struck any vital organs. Ron reached to his shoulder and groaned.

"Harry?" he whispered. "Bloody hell, I had 'em."

At the same time Voldemort began to gather his senses and Dakhil helped him to his feet. "Are you well, my lord?" he asked as a blast of blue light shot over their heads. "The boy didn't harm you, did he?"

"Boy?" asked Voldemort, taking Dakhil's hand. Another blast of red crashed into the ground before them. "What… what's going on?"

"You were attacked. The men started fighting."

He looked up to see his two Cho's, the real and the imaginary, fighting for their lives. In the mayhem, Cho set Jamie down at her feet beneath the protection of her robes that she might better attack those pelting her with spells. Dobby, still resembling Jamie, began to wander from Tonks' side. Something about the water was calling to him. Tonks was forced to deflect the spells being cast at her. Professor Flitwick's enchantment skills had been spectacular, but her robe would not hold out for much longer.

The occasional spell would come close to Dobby who, somehow, was able to deflect them without much difficulty. In one case he appeared to catch a stunning spell in his hands. The red light balled up and exploded, sending sparks into the air that rained down over his head. It was this that Voldemort saw and it was this that convinced him that he had discovered the true Jamie.

"Hhhhiiimmm!" he hissed, pointing at Dobby.

"Excuse me, my lord?" asked Dakhil, apparently unable to understand.

The real Jamie saw the flash of sparks and, unbeknownst to his mother, slipped out from under her robes and began to walk unsteadily toward Dobby who was now near the water's edge.

"'gain… 'gain!" cried Jamie with joy. Dobby smiled at his twin, but the water continued to beckon. He bent low at the shore's edge.

Simultaneously, both Cho and Tonks saw one Jamie running toward the water and the other reaching down to put his hand in. They had each lost track of which was which and they both began to run toward them. Voldemort noticed the boys nearing the water as well.

"Stop them!" he cried, pointing to the twin Jamies, but his Death Eaters took the command to mean the girls.

There was a flurry of more spells, but none struck true. Harry heard Shahan snort in disgust. It was followed by a hissing sound that Harry recognized at once and this time prepared for. The enchanted arrows sang out in the air toward their victims._ Thwish! Thwish! Thwish! _Three poisoned arrows, cast by Shahan, with the sole purpose to kill. The first was aimed at Harry who caught it in his hand. The second was aimed at Cho Chang, the real Cho Chang. Is struck the cloak with a clang and fell to the ground. The third was aimed at Tonks and it struck her straight between the shoulder blades. With a gasp, she fell face first onto the wet ground near the rushing water that plunged over the falls.

"You fool!" yelled Voldemort.

There was a small outcropping of rocks near Harry and the others. Severus climbed up to get a better look at the girl that had fallen. She was the true mother of the boy he had identified as Harry's son. It had happened again – a mother's life for her child – ancient magic. His face was white with horror and his raging eyes on fire. He looked up toward the night's sky and let loose a piercing scream.

"NOOOOOOO!"

The earth shook, splitting the trees behind Voldemort and allowing a handful of the trapped Death Eaters to join their master.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort cried. A blast of green light erupted from his wand and struck Shahan before he could even begin to comprehend. The colt fell dead, his eyes open, staring at the heavens above.

"Dakhil," hissed Voldemort. "Now I'll never…." He began to cough.

Casting an accusatory glance at Dakhil and Draco, almost daring them to take action, Harry lifted Ron to his feet.

"Come on, Ron," he urged. "We have to get out of here." Already Hermione was at Tonks' side trying to heal her. But Ron held fast, refusing to leave.

Snape coughed some more only this time blood splattered from his mouth.

"It's poison," whispered Ron. "I knew there was something."

On the other side of the water, Gabriella stood frozen looking down at the image before her. Hermione was casting spell after spell in a frantic attempt to save Tonks' life. For a moment, they were the only spells being cast. The attention of the Death Eaters had turned once again toward their master who appeared more ill than ever.

Watching Tonks transform back into her own image, Dobby followed in kind, but Voldemort, hunched over his own pool of sputum and blood, never noticed. James ran to his sister's aid, swooped up Jamie, and placed him into his sister's arms as she stepped over to help Hermione.

"She came to protect me," Cho said, holding back the tears. "Why? Why her and not me?" Then her attention turned to Gabriella. "You know, don't you? What's special about this cloak?"

"It's Voldemort," whispered Gabriella, tears streaming down her eyes.

"It's Voldemort's?" asked Cho.

"No. It _is_ Voldemort – the soul of Tom Riddle. It is all that was ever good in him and he cast it aside. Still, he covets it. Harry took it from the Ministry to hide it away. I thought… I thought it would protect you."

As if she were covered in spiders, Cho began to rip the cloak off her body. "Voldemort?" She balled it up and tossed it on the ground, backing away. Gabriella reached down and picked it up. The cloth was brilliant white, unstained by the muddy earth. Then she considered the waters rushing over the falls.

"Voldemort!" she called out. "If you want your soul back, come and get it!"

Voldemort looked up to see Gabriella holding his cloak in her hands. He held out his arm as if he were about to say something, when she cast the cloak into the pooling waters. It didn't sink; it didn't drift with the current. It simply floated on the water's surface, slowly making its way upstream to the centre of the lake.

He coughed again, splattering blood onto the ground. "Thirsty, Draco?" he said with a smile and then he began to laugh a slow, sickening laugh. "Release the Dementors," he whispered. Dakhil echoed his orders and a cool wind blew forth. Above the trees behind Voldemort a dark cloud grew. Harry could hear some of the Death Eaters still trapped behind the trees scream. It was an alliance of convenience and the Dementors were hungry. Harry looked at Draco, wondering when the last time was he had fed.

An enormous black cloud rose up from the north. It would be impossible for them to stave off the attack. Worse, Voldemort might be dying, but it wasn't really Voldemort at all. It was Snape. Harry surmised some Death Eater had poisoned him, or maybe… maybe Dakhil. Voldemort wouldn't care; he'd take a new host. Harry looked about wondering which new Death Eater would serve their master. None, willingly, he was sure.

The cloud came up and over the trees. Already the falls were crusting with ice. James and Gabriella began casting patronus spells, trying to push back the darkness. The free Death Eaters were about to join the Dementors in the attack when a red glow grew out of the east. The ground began to rumble and then a tremendous hissing filled the air.

Hundreds of arrows began to explode in the night sky as nearly two dozen Centaurs, Felspar at their lead, stampeded over the rocks where only a moment before stood Tonks. Along side of them were a number of wizards, which Harry couldn't make out because the air began to fill with too many ghosts. The Dementors began to scatter and Harry thought they might have the advantage when, above the roar of the falls, screams could be heard coming from the wizards below. The Dementors had realized there was more to feed on below the falls than above them.

"A host," coughed Snape. "The boy's right… poison. Severus has betrayed me."

"Thorfinn!" called Dakhil. "Your time has come."

Harry looked over to see a large brutal-faced Death Eater fighting hand-to-hand with a Centaur. He was tall enough to meet the Centaur eye-to-eye and held the creature's arms behind its back. He was holding his wand to the Centaur's head when Dakhil called his name again. A look of horror filled his eyes. The indecision cost him his life. He lost his grip, the Centaur spun, and an arrow pierced Thorfinn's chest; he was stabbed through the heart.

Undaunted, Dakhil called impassively to yet another. "Selwynn!"

"_There's no end to them,"_ thought Harry as he watched bodies drop all around him. One body would be as good as another and eventually… eventually he would find Jamie. He looked over to Cho and his child crouching over Tonks' body, James attempting to shield his sister. Together with Hermione they were a whirlwind of fire, but it wouldn't matter. At some point they would lose… they would all lose and Voldemort would come back as strong and as powerful as ever. The cold and sorrow began to penetrate Harry's mind and he began to weep.

It was then that Harry felt them. It was warmth replacing the cold. Drahmir and Talisan were near. They had finished their work on the Dementors near Terntalag and had come to help dispatch these. Harry fiddled with his wand. He had to do something to stop Voldemort, but he didn't know how. If he killed him, all he would do is kill Snape. Voldemort would rise from the body and take over someone else.

He could hear Drahmir and Talisan beckon to him. They were excited, perhaps too excited. _"The stone… use the stone!"_ they called out, eager to see more fire fill the air and, for a moment, he considered the proposition. With their help it would be possible to atomize everything within a hectare. Certainly, Voldemort would be destroyed then. The fighting would end. That's all Harry really wanted. It had to end. Gabriella and Jamie would be protected; his family would be safe. His mind flashed back to Greece, when he used the purifying power of the dragons Casinius and Crestian to destroy the onslaught of Dementors overwhelming his godfather's castle.

His eyes looked at the waters and up to the stars. He raised his wand, his eyes in some other place, some other time – the Heart of Asha beating in his chest. The mark of the Viswa Vajra burned brightly upon his forearm. "To destroy _all_ evil," he whispered.

"Harry?"

A hand touched his arm – Ron's hand. The fire of Asha's heart cooled as Harry looked back at his friend and then up to the dragons flying near. _"Stay behind the trees. Take out the Dementors,"_ he commanded._ "Nothing more. Do not enter the battle at the falls." _He slipped his wand away and took Ron by the hand lifting him to his feet.

"Let's get out of here," said Harry as fire began to light the sky above them. He was beginning to enjoy the screams of Dementors and he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. He turned and snapped Dakhil and Draco a look of pure hatred.

"No!" argued Ron. "Now… we have to do this now! If you won't I will!" Ron pulled his wand as Harry looked over to find that the Death Eater Dakhil had summoned, Selwynn, was gone. He had run off into the trees. Ron continued toward Snape who continued to cough blood. Harry grabbed his arm.

"You'll just kill Severus," said Harry.

"For once, you're right, Potter," said Dakhil. "Clearly, your fool of a Potions Professor thought he could kill our Dark Lord by committing suicide, but that's all it is… suicide. The Dark Lord will rise again. Harry could sense that Snape had little time left. For a moment, he considered trying to heal him. As if reading Harry's thoughts, Dakhil handed him his cigar.

"Here, boy," he sneered. "Put yourself to good use. Hold this. I'll no longer need cigars."

Harry took the cigar. He was about to throw it away when he felt something hard, something very un-cigarlike. Dakhil stepped down toward Snape and helped him to his feet.

"It would be better, my lord," said Dakhil, "if you make the transition before death." All Snape could do was to nod his head. "Then, if you would have me, I offer you my body." Dakhil held out his arms. "It would be an honour, my lord." Voldemort nodded weakly in agreement.

"No!" yelled Draco, but all that came out was a horrible screech.

"Fool!" snapped Dakhil.

Voldemort looked at one and then the other. He held up a weak finger toward Draco and whispered, "Let me see your form." Harry could feel Dakhil grow very nervous.

Draco nodded, but before he transformed he looked at Harry and said, "Remember, shit for brains… the headline has _both_ our names – Malfoy _and_ Potter." He looked away. "I want it that way… at least once, anyway."

He then transformed into his human self. He stood before Voldemort a pale nude; his youthful, muscular body in stark contrast to the aged Vampire next to him. Voldemort tried to stand taller and took Draco by the arm.

"Like the son I never had," he hissed. "I thought perhaps Nott, but you… a vampire. I never considered it before. I will share this power with you my son. You shall be my Phobos… the centre of my Shield of Herakles, for when wizards set eyes upon your terrible form, all will fly in terror, knowing that Voldemort has arrived."

Voldemort muttered some words then held up his face to the sky and opened his mouth. A green smoke issued forth and Snape fell to the ground, gasping and coughing as he clutched his throat.

"Don't do it, Draco!" cried Harry, but Draco just stood there smiling at Harry. The smoke wrapped once around him and then began to enter his body.

"In Asha's name!" cursed Dakhil, his eyes darting about, trying to figure out what to do. "You!" He pointed at Ron. "Use your mind… hold him. Don't let him take control!" He then turned to Harry. "You! The cigar you idiot. Give it to Snape before he dies."

Ron grabbed Draco by the shoulders and looked deeply into his eyes. "Stay with me, Draco. Stay with me." The neural tendrils began to wind their way down Ron's back. "That's it," he muttered, straining. "Push him away."

Nervously, Harry pulled the cigar apart to find a glass vial. It fumbled in his fingers and nearly fell.

"Don't break it!" yelled Dakhil

Harry dropped to his knees and swung Snape around, holding him in his arms. Carefully, he poured the golden liquid down his throat. At once Snape's breathing eased and the colour, what little there was, returned to his face. His eyes closed and he fell asleep in the middle of the battle. He set him back to the ground and looked up at Ron and Draco.

"You can't have him!" Ron snapped through gritted teeth. Whatever fight was taking place, it was taking its toll on Ron. The tendrils were growing larger, bulging out through his skin like raised, red welts the size of giant slugs.

"We need to get him into the water while we have the chance!" cried Dakhil.

Draco began to chuckle and it wasn't clear if it was Draco, or Voldemort. For an instant, standing in the nude, he glanced down at Harry. His two grey eyes bore nothing but pure happiness. Then he spoke, his words distant, yet deep.

"There is another name for Phobos, my lord… Flight!"

Draco shoved Ron aside and ran toward the rocks at the fall's rim, beyond which was a sheer drop of over a hundred meters. Without looking back, he took one leap high into the air and disappeared over the edge.

"Draco!" Harry screamed.

"Yes!" said Dakhil. "The falls. The water below will—"

Harry's heart sank. Rising above the falls in full vampire form was Draco, his batlike wings pulsating rhythmically.

"Did you think you could so easily defeat me, Potter?" he screeched.

"It's Voldemort!" Ron yelled.

"_The time has come,"_ the voice of death whispered in Harry's ear. _"You'll lose one you love." _He looked over at Tonks. Was there still time to save her? The mark on his arm began to burn again. The Viswa Vajra, raised and red, would not be denied. Harry had one last chance to destroy him… here and now. Once again, he could feel the Heart of Asha burning with anger inside his chest. He could sense the great dragon Singehorn approach.

"Finally," he whispered. Voldemort moved in closer, moving away from the precipice and over the pooling lake. Harry recalled Dumbledore saying that Tom Riddle didn't care much for heights.

"Come closer," Harry whispered.

Seeing their master with renewed strength, the Death Eaters regained their courage and began to fight harder. The wizards that had accompanied the Centaurs began to pull back.

"You will die with your boy, Harry," sneered Voldemort. "The name Potter will be stricken from the records and no one will speak the word under penalty of death." Voldemort held his wand down toward Cho and Jamie. As fast as a Centaur, Harry was at their side, rolling him and Cho away as a blast of green light cratered the ground near Hermione and Tonks. James was knocked to the ground, but unhurt.

Voldemort was about to blast again when he looked down and saw his white cloak, still floating, motionless in the water. It wouldn't hold his attention long. Harry was wishing that they had more help when he thought of Helena's words. "If you need us, call," she had said. "_One of us is always near, and never forget, Harry Potter… you are one of us._"

"Helena!" he called, hoping that somehow the ghosts nearby would understand. "Help us!"

Mist began to pour through the trees and hover about the lake. It concealed Voldemort's cloak and he screamed again, casting spells that had little effect on the spirits. More and more flowed in and they began to slowly swirl like some celestial galaxy. Gently, imperceptibly they were causing the water to rise beneath the mist, while Voldemort refused to fly higher. He cast more spells, inflicting pain to shoo them away, but for every one that scattered two took its place. The forest of ghosts was emptying out over the lake and there were hundreds.

Harry rolled back over, Jamie in his arms, and saw Hermione still trying to heal Tonks. He handed Jamie to Cho and crawled over to her. Tonks was taking in short, sharp breaths and Hermione was sobbing.

"The arrow," she said woefully, "it's enchanted. Nothing I do…"

Harry knelt over Tonks and took her hand; it was cold. He reached out to heal her, but all he could find was an empty void. There was no hint of life energy. He began to reach deeper, pouring some of his own energy into hers, when her hand touched his lips.

"No," she whispered softly. "Save your strength."

What he thought was just a little effort he recognized was much more. Pulling back, he found that he was dizzy and the forest was tipping to one side. She was right. If he tried to save her, he would not be able to do anything to protect the others. A tear slipped down his cheek.

"She's been with Cho since she entered the stronghold," said Hermione. "I had told her about Gabriella's vision."

"Why, Tonks?" he asked. "If you knew Gabriella's vision… why?"

"I wasn't going to have another Potter grow up without his mother. Not… not this time." She smiled, brushing the back of her hand against Harry's cheek and wiping away the tears. "Kill the bastard."

Her hand fell, lifeless, in Harry's lap.

The sprits that had been hovering on the edges of the forest, nearest the trees, moved in and, for the first time, Harry had a clear view of the wizards that had come to help them. Sirius stood near Felspar. She was firing into the Dementors above and he was attacking Death Eaters below.

"Sirius!" called Harry.

"Sorry, I'm late," answered Sirius. "The Hebrideans routing Voldemort's army made it tough to leave."

Another wizard in green robes rushed forward. Harry knew the colours of Slytherin and drew his wand. He was about to fire when he recognized the wizard as Blaise Zabini. The Slytherin's eyes kept flashing between the Vampire encircled by ghosts over the water and the group about Harry.

"S-Sirius wants you back in the stronghold," said Blaise. "There, behind the rocks." Blaise was pointing them toward safety, when Voldemort let out another scream. There was a flash of light from his wand and the impulse pushed the ghosts back ten metres. Blaise stepped to the water's edge.

"Don't let him take you, Draco!" he yelled. Voldemort turned toward Blaise. He held out his wand to cast a curse, but his hand began to shake. He turned and again took out his frustration on the swarming ghosts. There was a roar overhead that shook the ground. Singehorn had arrived and he circled them just above the treetops, his massive body dwarfing the trees.

A Death Eater, realizing the new threat, sent out a killing curse, missing low and blasting off the top of a large pine tree.

Just as Harry was about to respond, a small hand grabbed at his legs. He looked down to see Jamie, his lip curling up as if he were about to cry.

"NO!" he yelled, pounding the ground with his foot in something of a tantrum. A whip of water flung out of the lake, grabbed the Death Eater by the legs and pulled him into the waters.

"NO! NO! NO!" Jamie yelled repeatedly. Three more whips flung out of the lake and three more Death Eaters disappeared beneath the lake's surface. The others began to step away from the water, leaving their master hovering alone above the cloak he coveted.

"The mark," Gabriella gasped. "The mark on his arm. He has shown a kindness to the dragon!"

Harry wasn't sure what she meant when he looked down to see Jamie's arm glowing. The Mark of Asha had been set upon his arm and the image… the image was that of Singehorn.

As the ghosts pressed in on Voldemort once again, Singehorn called to Harry.

"Use the stone," he commanded.

"I know what you would do," answered Harry, "but there are too many lives to be lost. We cannot turn to evil to fight evil. There are hundreds below."

"You have learned the cleansing power of both fire and water, Harry," said Singehorn. "It is why you came to this place. It is why destiny has brought us all together that we might see the prophecy fulfilled. Command the stone to use the elements at your disposal and I will offer what fires are left within me."

Harry looked up as Blaise kept calling Draco's name. Harry bit his lip. "I need him lower," he whispered. There was a roar at the far end of the falls as Dakhil Barghouti rose from the shore as a vampire. He flew out to meet Draco, trying to pull him down toward the water. There was also a ghost climbing upon Draco's back, choking him from behind. Harry was stunned to see that it was Patrick and the choke hold was working. Voldemort began to descend as the ghosts swirled about in a giant spiral.

"Now!" Dakhil called to him. "Everything you've got, man. Everything!"

Harry summoned the stone and held it high in his hands. In his struggle, Voldemort saw it in Harry's hands.

"The stone!" he gasped.

"FIRE!" Harry called. What he meant was for Singehorn to release his flame. What resulted was that every wizard and Centaur sent all they could at the vampires fighting above the lake.

Harry looked up as Singehorn roared down from on high, opening his gaping mouth wide. Beyond him Harry watched Ebyrth strike its target – Phobos, the moon of Mars. The heavens exploded in a flash of light. Above the lake, just as the arrows pierced their victims, the dragon let loose his flame.

"_Incendiamos__ aqua!"_ cried Harry.

The water ignited as if it were nitroglycerin and rose up to meet Singehorn's fiery breath. The explosion filled the air, focused by the stone in Harry's hands and amplified a hundred fold. Draco and Dakhil were ionized and vanished. Singehorn, the great dragon, burst into flame and smoke. Moulding this tremendous energy, trying to keep the others safe, Harry could feel the force of the heat shredding through his body in a fantastic white light. His flesh ripped open and his cells began to tear apart. He thought of Gabriella and his heart sank, knowing that he would never see her again. He looked down, hoping to catch one last glimpse of little Jamie at his feet, but all sight had failed him. He could feel the atoms that were Harry Potter disintegrate.

A gentle hand touched his soul. It was Helena.

"At last, Harry Potter," she said warmly. "Your destiny is fulfilled."

* * *

A/N: Okay, that was long and hard, and you're probably confused. I'd like to say the next chapter gets easier, but it gets pretty weird. Still, it's the most important chapter of all, IMHO, so bear with me as I try to get it written. Erm… if you get bored waiting, write a review!


	49. Three’s Company

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 4****9 – Three's Company **

**~~~***~~~**

Ron Weasley watched in horror as Draco jumped to his death over the falls. It was a strange sensation – one mixed with joy for the triumph over darkness that it represented, pride in seeing the Slytherin take control, destroying the evil that had once controlled them both, and sorrow at the loss of someone he now considered a friend. Ron had remained connected mentally to Draco, and felt him battle the Dark Lord as Voldemort tried to take command of his body. Ron did what he could to help, but he knew it wouldn't last forever; so did Draco. When the blonde ran to sacrifice himself over the falls, Ron's connection was severed. Draco would plunge into the magical waters below and die, the evil of Voldemort washing away forever.

The exhilaration of victory and grief, twisting in Ron's guts, gave way to dismay when he saw the giant bat-like creature rising above the waters. He knew at once that Draco had lost the battle with Voldemort before ever striking the purifying waters. They had lost their last best chance at victory. Having Draco as his host, the Dark Lord would be more powerful than ever.

"It's Voldemort!" Ron yelled, trying to warn everyone, but that's all he could do. Ron tried to reach out with his mind, but the vampire was too far away for Ron to penetrate his thoughts. In fact, he appeared to be hovering at the far end of the falls for that very reason. All Ron could discern was that Voldemort's mind was fully turned on his hatred for Harry and his words echoed those thoughts.

When Harry vanished from Ron's side and appeared near the blast of green that pitted the ground on the other side of the small lake, Ron thought Voldemort was deliberately targeting him. But then he realized that Voldemort wasn't trying to kill Harry, he was trying to kill Jamie.

Ron turned to Dakhil and said, "He's trying to kill Harry's son."

Dakhil's expression showed that he was conflicted, unsure exactly what he should do. Seemingly unconcerned over the fate of Harry's child, his eyes were fixed on Draco. He picked at his teeth with his fingers, found a bit of tobacco with his tongue and spit it out into the air.

"Not to worry, Mr. Weasley," Dakhil said with steely eyes that never left the vampire hovering above the waters. "He'll try to kill us all before the morning sun rises."

Ron could only nod in agreement as he turned and levelled his wand at Draco. He'd never used a killing curse and while the waters seemed to speak to him, telling him to defend and not to attack, Ron was beginning to believe that murdering the murderer was their only recourse. Just when he had nearly convinced himself to let loose the spell, Dakhil pulled his arm down, motioning toward the cluster of rocks near the falls. "More targets for the arrogant bastard," he whispered. Popping over the ledge was Sirius Black and a handful of other wizards and Centaurs.

"The cavalry has arrived," said Ron smiling.

"It won't be enough," replied Dakhil calmly. "There are more Death Eaters moving in from the north. They'll be here soon. It simply means that when the end comes, more will die." His eyes looked up toward the heavens, but Ron wasn't sure what he was looking for. More vampires? Dementors? At the same time the ghosts began to move in toward the water. Dakhil sighed.

"I have lived a long time, Mr. Weasley, a long time… But I have never seen such a sight as this." The ghosts began to swirl about the waters. "If this is the night we die, know that you have witnessed what will be a history for the ages. If you survive, commit it to memory that your child and the children of those who have died this evening will know of this great magic and learn its meaning."

"Child?" asked Ron. "I don't have a—"

Someone yelled. There was a commotion going on over by Harry, but the density of the ghosts made it impossible to see exactly. Then Dakhil patted Ron's back and smiled. There was a shift in Dakhil's demeanour and for the first time a glimmer of hope flashed across his eyes,

"I knew it. He is here."

The earth rumbled as a dragon appeared from behind the trees and roared. Curses lit the already iridescent sky as the spells shot up from the ground. But, they missed their mark and, without apparent reason, Death Eaters began to fly into the water, disappearing beneath its surface.

"Did you see that?" he exclaimed, but Dakhil wasn't listening. Instead, he was lost in thought staring, trancelike, into space; he was having some secret conversation. He blinked and the conversation was over as quickly as it had begun.

"A new member," he muttered with a chuckle that sounded like to large stones banging together. "It was a pleasure knowing you, Ron Weasley. In all my years, I have met few friends as loyal as you." Dakhil began to laugh, slowly at first, but then it built up into a tremendous roar. Ron fell backward onto his arse as he watched Professor Barghouti transform into a vampire with arms thicker than Ron's thighs. The enormous creature shot from the ground and in an instant had his hands around Draco's neck. The ghosts kept swirling and for a moment Ron thought he saw a ghost that looked like Patrick trying to help Dakhil choke the life out of Draco. The tussling vampires began to descend toward the water; the white-tops that had been spun up in the whirlwind of the ghosts were churning higher and higher.

Ron rose to his knees and when he looked up he saw the comet that had been travelling across the night sky for the last many weeks. Like the ghosts over the lake, its tail also swirled about the planet Mars. He narrowed his eyes at the strange sight, wondering if it was some bizarre celestial illusion, but then the entire sky flashed and filled with light. Fred and George couldn't have done better. The light was so blinding, he was forced to turn his head away. That's when he felt the heat. The dragon had let loose its flame.

Shielding his eyes, he stole a squinted peak and watched as the flame struck down, past the two vampires fighting in the sky until it kissed the water. Steam exploded upward. The dragon wasn't going to stop. He kept flying down toward the vampires, emptying all the fire in his belly. The enormous winged beast was only a few yards from Dakhil and Draco when a small beam of red light, like a stunner, shot toward Harry. He was holding something in his hand. Ron couldn't see it, but he could hear Harry thinking about it. It was the vivificus stone – the Heart of Asha. The beam recoiled back a hundred times brighter. Dragon, water and the power of the stone struck the two vampires simultaneously and the world exploded. Ron was forced to close his eyes completely and then covered his face with his arm, but the blinding light still shone through. The pain was excruciating, as if his brain was being sucked out of his ears. In that moment, all he could think about was Hermione and how he wished he could have said he loved her, just one more time before they died.

If this was how it was to end, so be it, he thought. The mixture of emotions that had twisted his stomach just moments before had returned. They would win, but at what cost? What about the hundreds of wizards below the falls? He could only hope that Harry hade done the right thing. Ron relaxed, readying himself to pass into the next plane. In those final moments, he realized that hope had nothing to do with it. Ron Weasley was a fiercely loyal friend. He knew Harry maybe better than Harry knew himself. Perhaps he and the others would be casualties in the last great battle against Voldemort, but at least the fighting and the meaningless deaths would come to an end. The loyal friend was confident that Harry had indeed done the right thing.

Light gave way to dark and the world ended.

* * *

Everything was black – not black like night time black, but black like _I've just been buried alive six feet under the ground_ kind of black. Was this it? Was this… death? Almost too scared to try, Harry made to breathe. His lungs filled with air, or at least they seemed to. The air here was still and heavy with a rich, damp, loamy odour that reminded Harry of… something. His heart was beating too fast to think properly. _Beating?_

He was on his back, lying on some sort of pad. _A coffin?_ He had been vaporized; how could he be in a coffin? His hand reached out to touch the pad and he realized it wasn't a pad at all, but something thick and soft, layered in what felt like a spongy moss. When he turned to get on his feet, a wave of dizziness passed over him accompanied by a sharp pain in his right knee. Instinctively, he reached for his wand. It was there. _Strange._ He hadn't expected to carry his wand to heaven.

Harry readied to cast the spell and noticed that the mark of the dragon on his arm was radiating a dim orange glimmer. If it had been more intense, he would think it was a summons… but a summons to where? He straightened his leg and cast a blue light over his knee to knit the tendon that had been torn. Then he held the wand up high.

"_Lumos Forte!"_ he cried. The wand lit bright, too bright to look at, but even with its intensity Harry couldn't discern the black velvety floor beneath his feet until he held the wand just inches away. Beyond that, all was darkness, no walls, no ceiling, nothing.

Harry didn't understand. Up until now the planes between life and death where one's life force hovered before choosing the final path it might take, those planes were coloured and beautiful. Birds were singing and the flowers were blooming in the plane where Harry had saved Hermione. Then a dread began to wash over him. Harry had visited Hermione in Hermione's plane. What if Hermione had been good and Harry had been… he didn't dare think it, but the thoughts came anyway. It was true. In his arrogance, he had led Voldemort to the Ministry and now Molly Weasley was dead. He had chosen power over love and, though he had committed himself to a new path, he was guilty of the greatest sin of all. He had murdered Anthony Goldstein after having sworn an oath to the waters of the falls. Was this to be his punishment for all eternity? An endless night?

He took a few steps, his feet making no sound as he moved forward. To his right, a white puff of smoke pushed through the spongy floor and disappeared into the inky darkness above. Then there was another… and to his left another. The puffs flitted upward and disappeared so quickly he had no chance to see their shape. Yet the puffs looked to Harry like—

_Whispers._

Harry stopped with only the beat of his heart and the occasional flash of smoke and mist for company. Whispers – from somewhere behind. He turned and strained to hear more clearly. Someone was speaking. _"Damn,"_ he cursed under his breath. _"If only I could…" _Harry's eyes rolled up in his head amazed at his own stupidity. Of course he could. He didn't need his eyes to see. He closed his eyes and reached out searching for the auras before him and was immediately blinded by the intensity of life surrounding him.

How was it possible? This was death. Everything had been destroyed, yet he was surrounded by light everywhere. It was as if he was staring into the sun, its nuclear furnace burning a thousand times brighter than any known star. His brain ached and he closed off his second sight. The whispers continued unchanged in the dark distance. Unable to see a thing before him, he cautiously began to step toward the voices and, with each careful step he took, the sensation began to grow in his mind that someone or some thing was watching him.

He walked slowly, blind and unwilling to risk falling off some sort of cliff, or ledge. Thirty yards must have taken nearly thirty minutes; at least it felt that way. The voices grew clearer and what had sounded like hushed whispers was now becoming normal conversation hushed by the strange cavern he was in.

"For the last time, Draco," said the gravelled voice of Dakhil Barghouti. "This is not death." Another fluttering of mist shot up on Harry's left. He froze, wondering if the response would be that of Draco, or of Voldemort.

"I want it over with, Dakhil!" cried Draco. "You! You know the way! Where is it?"

"Yes, my son," said a high, cold voice. "But it is not our time. It is not _my_ time. We will find the way out of this strange plane, but I assure you it will not be to cross over into eternal slumber. No. My path leads back to Hogwarts and you will be at my side and, as your father before, you will learn to like it there. Together we will see Hogwarts rebuilt anew, with the vision of its true creator. Together we will see to the final and utter destruction of Harry Potter. In the end, all will see that _I_ am undeniably the greatest wizard of the ages."

Dakhil began to laugh. "The greatest wizard of the ages!" he said mockingly. The laughter stopped. "You are nothing but a cheap, second rate charlatan, boy!" There was a crack of green light that fizzled from Voldemort's wand some thirty meters away. "What? Did I hurt your feelings, boy? Your evil has no power here."

As Harry peered intently into the dark, trying to discern movement of the people he knew were out there, another wisp of white smoke rose directly in front of him; only this one hovered for a moment. Its shape began to shimmer and transform into the likeness of Patrick O'Riley. The dead second year stood in front of Harry, looking up at him with two bright blue eyes and a toothy smile on his face.

"It's happenin', Harry," he said with excitement. "The gate… the gate teh heaven is openin' and yer carryin' the keys. You… and the other blind dragon."

* * *

"Ron!" a voice cried from the darkness. "Ron!"

It was an eerie sound, as if someone were calling to him in the caverns beneath Hogwarts. Only a moment before there was the sound of crickets and other creatures stirring in the Forbidden Forest. There was the flow of the water crashing over the falls, the roar of the dragon and the beating of wings and stomping of hooves. All sound had fallen away save for the lone voice now calling him.

"Stay there, James! And for Merlin's sake don't touch anything. I said DON'T TOUCH! RON!"

The voice was nearer now. Ron lifted his hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes. His head ached. He lifted himself off his back onto one elbow and saw Gabriella running toward him, an eerie orange light bathing the left side of her face. Her eyes were open wide, two black dots staring back at him with concern.

"Ron!"

"I'm… I'm fine," he replied groggily, waving his hand dismissively. He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. It felt as if he'd just apparated into a brick wall. He sat up, looking at the water across the small lake. Its surface glittered, but something wasn't quite right and his brain couldn't put it together. Before he could figure it out, Gabriella was at his side, bending low and asking him if he could walk. She smelled of flowers and sweat and the mixture sent a tingle down his spine that cleared his senses immediately.

"Yes, I can stand," he said trying to pretend he didn't need her help. When he did rise, the earth seemed to tip a little. He spun and caught his balance just in time to come face to face with a Death Eater. He grabbed his wand. _"Stupefy!"_ he cried, but nothing came from the wand. It didn't even fizzle. Ron backed away, yelling again. _"Stupefy!"_

Again nothing happened and he cursed the new wand, questioning if Old Man Ollivander had duped him with a dud. He kept backing away until he tripped over a root and fell backwards into Gabriella's arms. She lifted him back to his feet.

"It won't work," she said dispassionately, "not that it matters. He can't hurt you, at least not yet." She lifted Ron back to his feet and stepped over to the Death Eater who hadn't moved since Ron rose. She pulled off his mask to reveal Mr. Crabbe, Vincent's father. His eyes were open wide with amazement, but there was no life in them. Gabriella dropped the mask and Ron waited to watch it hit the ground, but it remained suspended in mid-air.

"What… what…" he muttered, pointing at the mask. Then he glanced around. They were surrounded by Death Eaters and Centaurs, wizards and witches, but all were frozen as if they'd been blasted with a giant _Petrificus Totalus _spell. Nothing was moving except for the occasional wisp of white mist that would come in and out of view – the same ghosts that had been collecting and swirling around the lake since he'd arrived.

"I'd say time has stopped," said Gabriella, carefully placing the mask in its original position over Crabbe's face, "but not for everyone. The ghosts… you, me, James…" She glanced over to see James Chang leaning over his sister. "Don't touch her!" she yelled.

"But—"

"I said DON'T TOUCH!" James leaned back and nodded his head. "Who knows what will happen if we distort the timeline," she said to Ron as if he were thinking the same thing.

That's when Ron noticed the water. It too was still as ice. Even the splashes cascading over the falls were suspended in air, like diamonds captured in some frozen photograph. But, with the waters stationary, the glistening sparkles didn't make sense. That is, until he looked above the placid pool. Ten meters over the water's surface was a glowing sphere, an orb of fire at least a meter across. It was the same spot where Singehorn had come crashing down upon Dakhil and Draco, the same spot where the steaming waters had rushed upward, the same spot that Harry had—

Ron's eyes shot over to where Harry had last stood. He was gone.

"Harry," he whispered.

"Look," said Gabriella suddenly. She had been taking in the scene too, trying to discern what was going on. She pointed up to the spot where Ebyrth had been passing by Mars. The comet was gone and in that corner of the night sky the heavens appeared to be on fire – some sort of giant supernova. _Did comets do that?_ _Was Mars destroyed? Were the Centaurs right, was Harry Mars? And if Mars was gone, was Harry…. _

In that moment her bravery failed her and she began to weep. Ron took her by the arm and together they walked near the still shore toward James who appeared to be more in shock than anything else. Something was bothering him about Cho, but he wouldn't, or couldn't say what it was. It was understandable; hunched as she was over the ground, she looked dead. His head pounding, Ron wasn't sure he was in much better condition.

"Why us?" James finally asked, looking up at the pair as they approached. He kept kneeling next to his sister, Cho, and then pulling away as Gabriella had instructed. "What's happened?"

"The real question, James is not what happened, but what's happening?"

Gabriella stepped over to check on Tonks. Blood spotted the white cloak she was wearing. Guilt welled up in Gabriella's heart and the tears clouded her eyes.

"It's okay," said Ron, touching Gabriella's shoulder and then leaning over himself to look at Hermione who had been trying to save Cho. In her final moment, she was looking at the spot where Ron had stood, her mouth open as if in mid speech. "I love you to," he whispered, lightly brushing her hair.

"Ron, please… best not to touch."

Ron nodded as he watched a ghost swirling about the sphere of fire. The orb burned brightly above the still lake. Another ghost joined him. They drew near the sphere and, in a flash, plunged into the fire.

"What are they doing?" asked Ron. "Some sort of suicide?"

"I think…," said Gabriella slowly as two more ghosts paused and then entered the orb. "I think the gate has been opened. Harry spoke to me of this, but we both thought it impossible. Now… now I am not so sure."

"What gate?" asked Ron.

"A golden light… a new sun born… It looks like a sun, don't you think Ron? And above… in the heavens… something strange is happening."

More ghosts passed into the sphere.

"A gate to heaven?" asked James.

"A gate to the other side," answered Gabriella. "The House of Hayk believes that it is different for each of us. A resting place for all souls. Even the most evil of spirits, given a second chance, would choose to pass over."

"Evil?" Suddenly, Ron had his wand back in his hand. "If it's a gate, Gabriella, a gate that opens and closes… does it work both ways? Can ghosts pass from the other plane to here?"

"I suppose," she answered uncertainly. "But what person would choose to?"

"I can think of one," said Ron his fingers tightening about his wand.

It was then, they all three noticed. The white cloak, Voldemort's white cloak which had been floating in the middle of the lake, began to rise. It hovered above the water as if worn by some invisible wizard and then slowly turned to face them. For a moment it stayed in that position, the flickering fire shining above, reflecting off the iridescent robes, but then it began to move silently across the water… directly toward them.

"That can't be good," said Gabriella, pulling her own wand to the ready. "James, stay down."

"These things won't work, will they?" said Ron, giving his wand a bit of a twirl in his hand.

"No, they will not," said Gabriella flatly. "Even if we could cast a spell they would have no effect on the cloak. It's impenetrable."

"Bloody hell," said Ron, shaking his head. "What do you suppose it wants?"

"Don't be silly. It wants us."

* * *

The more Harry gawked, the more Patrick materialized before his eyes. His shape became more real, his bearing more human. Still, there was a bright aura about him that Harry could plainly see and Patrick's eyes, bright blue, glowed against the darkness like two perfectly set sapphires.

"I… I can see you," said Harry with astonishment.

"I've been with yeh the whole time, mate," said Patrick, still smiling. "Pretty crazy out there, eh? That dragon!" Patrick brushed himself off, removing some unseen soot and debris. "And the waters! Weird. Yeh didn't think I'd leave yeh?"

"Your… your eyes… they're glowing blue."

"They've always been blue. You know that, Harry," said Patrick, still smiling. He let out a considered breath. "Yeah, they say I take after me ma." For a moment, the smile faded and any doubt Harry had about who was standing before him faded as well.

"Me too," said Harry, breaking the brief silence. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"S'alright," said Patrick. "I'll see her soon enough. But first, you and I have some unfinished business don't we?" He winked and pointed into the darkness toward the voices.

"Do you know this place?" Harry asked.

"Not a clue," answered Patrick and he strode off into the darkness. Before he faded from sight, he turned back to Harry. "Yeh comin'?"

"Yeah… yeah, I'm coming," replied Harry and he began to follow. As they walked, Harry's mind relaxed and his thoughts contemplated his surroundings. He had been here before; he was sure. "Singehorn's mountain," he whispered. The ground gently shook and Harry looked down. It was as if the earth were giggling.

"Here we are, mate," said Patrick brightly.

Harry looked up and came face to face with the likeness of Voldemort. His flat face lit by the light of Patrick's aura lacked colour and contrast. Still, the expression bore pure hatred and Harry was caught so off guard he prepared himself to be vaporized. He'd been betrayed again.

"YOU!" Voldemort cried in high, cold voice. His right hand reached about Harry's neck, but the fingers passed through his flesh, sending a blast of cold and giving Harry something of a brain-freeze. Unlike, Patrick, Voldemort had no corporeal form. The ground giggled again.

Voldemort drew his wand and Harry responded in kind. He would kill this time.

"Put it down, man. Those powers have no place here."

"That's right, mate," echoed Patrick. "The sword defends it does not attack."

"The waters…," Harry muttered. He turned to see Dakhil standing next to Patrick, his hand upon the boy's shoulder. Beyond them, sitting on the spongy floor was Draco, his blonde fringe hung over the grey eyes that refused to look up. Still holding his gaze on Voldemort, Harry stepped over to Dakhil and slipped his wand away.

"You're okay," he said with excitement. "You're alive."

"I wouldn't be too sure," said Dakhil as another ghost passed from the ground to the ceiling above.

"Where are we?" asked Harry.

"You don't remember?" Dakhil asked with a hint of disappointment.

"Singehorn's mountain," said Harry slowly. "Before the Joining. I was with Sirius…"

"You still forget that you've been joined. You overlook all that that entails, don't you, Potter? Flashes of thoughts… unexplained ideas… they trickle across your mind and you have no understanding as to why. I would have liked to have taught you how to better draw on that knowledge. Now there is no time." Dakhil pointed at Voldemort.

"Our friend here is as lost as you are, but then… you're not really lost, are you, Harry?"

Harry's mind began to close in on the answer just as Voldemort swept forward.

"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW DEATH!" he spat. He moved toward them, gliding across the floor, his eyes blazing red as ever. "I have been to hell and back again. I have seen every imaginable gateway and have passed through fire and brimstone, extending life to its very limits. It is only a matter of time and the riddle here will be broken."

Two wisps of white streaked upwards and disappeared. A moment later another streak of similar colour came back the other way. It disappeared through the floor.

"He's going to tell the rest!" said Patrick with excitement. "As soon as they realize it's safe, there'll be a torrent of ghosts swarmin' through here from outside."

"The gate goes both ways?" Voldemort observed.

"What? Are yeh dense?" replied Patrick without much thought. "Of course it—"

"Don't even think about going back," interrupted Harry. This time he went to grab Voldemort's sleeve, but his hands passed through completely.

"Back?" asked Voldemort innocently. "I'm not thinking about going back… not alone."

He was smiling broadly, his eyes fuelled by hatred. Harry had seen that look before and it always ended badly. He was about to ask Patrick if he knew how they could force Voldemort through to the other side when the chamber began to grow noticeably colder. If it was possible to discern at all, the darkness above their heads seemed to swirl in different shades of black. It was as if a small thundercloud had appeared above them and was working its way down from the darkness. An instant later, Voldemort appeared – a second Voldemort. He materialized behind Dakhil and his hands were at his throat. This time the grip held fast, causing Dakhil to give a small gasp, though he did not struggle, nor did he seem in the least surprised at what had just happened.

Still lit by the light of Patrick's aura, Harry looked from one Voldemort to the other. He recognized this newcomer. He was more familiar. They had met before, many times before. The last encounter was in the Chamber of Death deep in the bowels of the Ministry.

"I… I killed you," Harry whispered, staring at the Voldemort that held Dakhil.

"And yet… here I am," was the reply, lilted with too much bravado. The chamber filled with the sound of dripping water and it took a moment to realize that it was coming from the robes of this new Voldemort. Small ghostly drips fell to the floor disappearing, but still making a distinctive _drip_ sound.

"I'm beginning to like these odds better," said the wraithlike Voldemort. "Still, we could do better, I think."

Another blast of cold air filled the room. The darkness above them swirled. This time Harry was ready, though unsure what or who exactly to expect. _Lucius?_ He pulled his wand. Dakhil made to say something, but his words were cut short by the new Voldemort.

"Harry!" yelled Patrick. "Watch—"

Too late. Someone had their wand at Harry's throat.

"Drop the wand, Potter."

The voice was young and commanding. Harry obliged and turned round to see Tom Riddle, still wearing the green robes of Slytherin. They were stained black with ink and smelled of the girl's toilet.

"I- I killed you too," Harry stammered.

"A mistake that will soon be remedied," replied Riddle. He gnashed his teeth with a distinct clicking sound.

"Yes, yes," said the drippy Voldemort. "The time of our retribution is at hand."

"Draco!" yelled Harry. "Do something!"

But Draco continued to stare down at the dark ground, his mind in another world. Patrick ran towards Riddle, but the moment he tried to attack he was repelled by some sort of shield charm.

"Curious," Riddle said with an evil grin. "Perhaps, when I return, I will be fortunate enough to retain this power. It would serve me well."

"Return?" asked Harry nervously. The wraithlike Voldemort moved closer.

"I may not have been able to return in full form alone," he said. "But my souls are now together; the Horcrux can be rejoined. We will return more powerful than ever! All we need is a little willing blood. Rise, Draco, and stand ready to rule the world!"

* * *

Author's Note: This was starting to get too long, so I cut it here in favor of getting the next chapter out. Feel free to review.


	50. Love Lost

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 50 – ****Love Lost**

**~~~***~~~**

Their feet but a few metres from the motionless lake, Ron and Gabriella continued to hold their wands at the ready, pointing them steadily at a hovering piece of fabric that looked little more than a cheap prank on Halloween. The shimmering, disembodied fabric, however, was no tawdry parlour trick, for it was imbued with an ancient and dark magic that few wizards would dare think of attempting and fewer still could succeed at accomplishing. This was the final Horcrux of Voldemort's making. The only thing accompanying them was the great burning sphere above the lake, its flames shifting colour between gold, red and purple. Unaware of the unholy trinity now taking place in the gateway opened by Singehorn above the waters, Gabriella thought that, if they could destroy it, they would have finally defeated Voldemort. Unfortunately, she was completely wrong.

"S-Silly?" Ron stammered. It was all he could do to keep his wand steady and with good reason. The battle about the lake had been raging for over an hour and nothing had harmed the cloak. It wasn't tattered, or soiled and looked as if it was fresh from Madam Malkin's. "I'm not being silly. If spells can't harm it, and arrows won't pierce it, what are we going to do?"

"You're the mind reader!" snapped Gabriella. "What does it want?"

For a moment, Ron hesitated. If anything was silly, reading the mind of a bolt of cloth was at the top of the list and if it was Voldemort in there… He shuddered. He'd been preparing for that eventuality since he'd been taken over in the Gryffindor common room. It had worked with Snape and a little with Draco, but he had their help then. This was different.

"Well?" asked Gabriella.

"Give me a bloody minute, woman!"

He steadied his thoughts and reached out with his mind to see if the floating piece of fabric had a consciousness. The surface images he received were simple, clear and powerful – the robes wanted something and Ron and Gabriella had them. In some respects it felt like the mind of a child, but when he tried to press further he was repelled immediately. Only Harry had developed that skill; Harry… and one other. He staggered backward.

"I guess _that_ means something?" said Gabriella, a bit of tension rising in her voice.

"You're right. The bloke's coming for us… all of us. Something's compelling him. It's like… like a kid in a candy store that wants… no… he thinks we've taken something of his and he wants it back. He won't tell me what it is. He thinks reaching us is his sole mission. M-Maybe he needs a body."

"Then you felt something? Someone was… was there?" They both took a singular step backward as the robes drew nearer. "Because, all I'm sensing is fear and—"

"I'm not afraid!" said Ron emphatically. "Someone's there, damn it. It's alive, or as alive as something like that can be."

Gabriella's hand began to shake. The tremble began at her fingertips, moved to her shoulder and then consumed her whole body. Still holding her wand high, tears began to streak down her face. She had to wipe them away with her free hand to keep from clouding her vision. Again, they each stepped backward.

They were even with James now, who simply gawked at the robes hovering over the water. Ron grabbed him by the shoulder with his free hand. "Move," he said, but James pulled away. He would not leave his sister. Then Ron noticed Gabriella crying.

"What is it, Gab?" he asked. Again they stepped back. "I know you're not afraid. What's wrong?"

"Harry…" she began, but had to swallow, doing all she could to keep her voice steady. She was beginning to realize the implications of the risen robes. "If the Horcrux has been woken, then… then… then it worked. Voldemort's wraith is dead. Singehorn gave his life and destroyed them all. Draco's dead, Dakhil's dead, Harry's… H- H-," she breathed, but could not bring herself to say it.

"That's not true!" Ron barked. "He… he wasn't over the water. He was there, right where you're standing. He can't be… he can't—"

"Then where is he, Ron?" Gabriella screamed back. "WHERE IS HE?"

Steeped in their feelings for someone they loved dearly, they took another step back, not registering that James and his sister were now between them and the approaching white Horcrux.

"I don't know," whispered Ron, a sense of finality in his voice. "I don't know." For the first time, he was beginning to truly believe that Harry was gone, gone forever. He grew angry.

"_Incarcerous!"_ he yelled, hoping to trap the robes, but his wand did nothing. Gabriella repeated the spell, but with the same failed results.

"Useless," she whispered with a sniff. "Time is frozen." They both slipped their wands away.

As the robes grew near the shore, she noticed small silver fingers of water rise up out of the lake. They curled around the tips of the white cloak. Ron hoped that they would attack and pull him under, but they appeared more playful, like a litter of little puppies jumping about their master's legs. Finally, he was on land, still hovering off the ground as if the robes were worn by an invisible man. It was then that Gabriella realized that James was still crouched over his sister's body, muttering something.

"James," she said in a half-hushed voice, trying to get his attention without rousing the robes any more than they were. "James, come here!"

James looked up at Gabriella, but the move put his back toward the robes. He stood.

"RUN!" she yelled, but it was too late. They watched as the robes lifted an invisible arm that looked as if it grabbed James by the neck. A white sleeve hung straight out and, though no arm or hand could be seen, it was clear that Voldemort had a hold of James.

The boy's eyes popped open as if a cold poker had just been run through his heart. His mouth was wide with horror and out of the gape came a puff of black smoke. The other arm of the white robes rose up and the smoke disappeared down the sleeve. James' eyes closed, his mouth closed, and he fell motionless on the ground.

"NO!" Gabriella cried out, but neither she nor Ron had any idea of what they might do to stop the Horcrux.

Voldemort, if that's who this now was, continued to slide across the ground toward the body of Tonks. The move wasn't random; it was purposeful. His arm reached out again, but not toward Tonks. This time it was toward Hermione who sat frozen in time, leaning over her dead friend.

"Ron…," Gabriella whispered.

Voldemort's arm reached out toward Hermione's back

"Stop it!" yelled Ron.

"Don't do anything—"

Ron rushed the robes, screaming loudly as he went. If he couldn't use magic, he'd tear the threads to pieces. Voldemort shifted and held his left arm out. You couldn't see the hand, but every sense projected that there was some human shape controlling the magical robes. Ron punched at where a head might be. The robes staggered for a moment. Gabriella sensed the reaction to pain; the robes were mad. The left arm spun and grabbed Ron by the wrist. Instantly, he froze. His expression bore the same eyes and the same mouth, and the same black smoke issued forth and, just like James, Ron crumpled to the ground next to Hermione. Gabriella screamed.

Undaunted, the robes bent back down toward Hermione. There was a blue light that erupted from the left sleeve that passed back and forth from her shoulder blades, to the bottom of her spine and back again. There was no black smoke this time and nothing seemed any different after Voldemort had finished. Maybe he could only kill the ones that were walking around. None of it made any sense. She was the last one standing and she had no idea what to do.

Voldemort slid back toward the water's edge. For a moment, she thought he might return to the lake, but as he approached James and Cho he stopped. Stepping over James' body the robes bent low toward Cho and the sleeves moved out toward her. There was a giggle as the robes pulled a small boy out from under her robes. Little Jamie had been hiding there and unlike all the others in suspended animation, he was every bit as active as Gabriella.

"_Jamie,"_ she breathed. It was all that she had left of Harry and she wasn't going to let the beast have him. She would have to make her charge, but how?

The robes carried Jamie back toward the water. _What was he doing?_ The little fingers of silver reappeared at the water's edge in eager anticipation. Voldemort took Jamie in both hands and bent down. _Surely the water wouldn't hurt a child._ The fingers reached up. Gabriella thought that if she knocked them both into the lake, she could at least get Jamie and run. _He can feel pain. _While he wasn't looking, Gabriella made her move.

She ran hard and, approaching the robes, leapt high into the air, planning to strike him squarely at the top of his spine with her foot, hoping to drop him where he stood that she might save Jamie. She'd practiced this move for years, but had never really used it on anyone because the result could be fatal. It was her most powerful move and, for Gabriella, that meant something.

The robes, unlike a human body, were more flat than filled – almost two-dimensional. He must have heard her approaching because he stopped bending over to see what the sound was. When he turned to face her, the robes nearly disappeared, at least from her perspective. There was nothing left to kick. Her foot missed completely and she tumbled in the air, straight into the water.

Harry had told her of the water's cleansing powers. She had seen with her own eyes what the lake had done to the three Death Eaters that had been pulled into its depths. Now it was her turn. She was worried and with good reason. The purity of the lake was the last place Gabriella wanted to be. After all, she had murdered her headmaster at Al Bsahri and had just intended to kill again.

~~~***~~~

* * *

"I'm done," Draco whispered to the floor. "I'm not going back."

"You don't seem to understand, boy," said the wraithlike Voldemort. "You don't have a choice!" The other splits of Voldemort's soul began to murmur their agreement. The one Harry had killed last year, still held his wand at Harry's neck and the younger, evil, Riddle still held Dakhil by the throat.

It was obvious to Harry that Dakhil could have done something to free himself, but he chose to simply stand in the dim light of Patrick's glow, biding his time. The wraithlike Voldemort moved toward Draco.

"Stand up!" he commanded. He grabbed Draco by his hair and pulled. Draco reached up with his right hand and grabbed Voldemort's wrist. In an instant he had the evil creature on his stomach, flat on the ground, Draco's knee firmly planted in his back.

"I told you," said Draco, leaning toward Voldemort's ear. "I'm not going back!"

The Voldemort that had been guarding Harry turned his wand on Draco. Harry reached to grab his arm, but his hands passed right through as if the Voldemort he had killed last year was nothing but mist. The exact same thing had happened when the wraithlike Voldemort had tried to grab Harry by the neck. He was nothing but vapour.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ cried the Voldemort by Harry. His wand sputtered, sparked and fizzled, but nothing more. Dakhil chuckled.

"This one," said Riddle, referring to Dakhil. "I could use this one to return."

Harry began to realize that, wherever they were, wands had no power to attack. Somehow, the waters of the lake were having an effect. Seeing the opportunity, he ran toward Riddle and moved to tackle him. He wondered if, like Patrick, he'd be repelled, but no such force shoved him backward. When he reached around Riddle's middle, Harry's arms slipped right through as if he were trying to hug a cloud. Riddle continued to hold Dakhil by the throat.

Draco noticed and, as if to test a theory, grabbed the Voldemort he was holding and lifted him off the ground by the neck. But, when he tried to throw him to the ground, he found that his arms would only set his enemy down gently. Clearly, powers centred on evil or ill will, were of no use. Draco couldn't harm them unless he was defending himself, nor could the Voldemorts attack and, as their powers were centred on dark magic, they were at a loss for what to do.

"What is this place?" Draco asked as he walked over to Harry to help him off the ground. When Harry reached to take the offer, his hand passed completely through Draco's. Harry felt the heat of Draco's presence penetrate his body, but not his touch.

"You're cold," Draco whispered. He glanced at the other Voldemorts and then back to Harry. "It's not them; it's you. You're a ghost."

"That… that's ridiculous," said Harry.

"You're the only one that can't be touched, Harry," said Draco. His eyes grew wide. "You're… you're the one that's dead. You've already passed over." Draco paused for a moment and then knelt next to Harry and whispered, "Take me with you! Take me now, before it's too late. I don't want to go back. I want to move on."

"Draco, I'm not dead! And, if I was, I couldn't—"

"Bullshit, Potter!" yelled Draco. "You can take me, but you won't! You're such an—" Draco moved his hands to push Harry over, but his hands shot straight through Harry's body. The sensation was uncomfortable for both of them.

Dakhil cleared his throat. It was subtle, but not so subtle that Draco didn't go quiet. "I'll be happy to be your host," said the old man with surprising calm. "Ruling the world… Well, that sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

The two Voldemorts moved closer to take a better look.

"He'd old," said one.

"As a vampire he's formidable," said the other. "And he is wise with a wand."

"Yess… yess that would work nicely."

"But difficult to control."

"Not if he is willing."

"Would you let go my neck," Dakhil asked Riddle.

"No tricks?"

"No tricks, I assure you," answered Dakhil. The grip around his neck loosened and for the first time Dakhil was able to see the three pillars of evil standing together before him.

"Don't do it, Dakhil!" cried Draco. "They're filth! Because of them I've… I've—"

"You've made your choice, you snivelling child!" spat Dakhil. "Death… death is so much simpler, isn't it? Three months you studied with me and all I heard about was how powerful you were going to become and now… now when you finally have the opportunity at your fingertips, you let it pass! Wizards will be as worms beneath my feet and the world of Muggles will be sundered!"

"Yessss," said the Voldemort Harry had killed last year. "Yesss, he will do."

Dakhil turned toward the trinity of hatred and straightened the dark brown robes he was wearing. He rummaged in his pocket for something, but couldn't find it. "Damn, smoked the last one." He took in a sigh. "Well, let's get this over with."

"Dakhil, don't!" cried Harry. "You swore an oath! An oath to—"

Dakhil's hand raised, he whispered something, and Harry's voice went silent.

"Prattling prick," he muttered. The Voldemort's laughed, convinced now he was sincere. "Now then," continued Dakhil. "Just one more piece of business at hand. Which one of you will be the lead soul to whom I shall give this power?"

"I will," they all said in unison.

Dakhil chuckled. "No, seriously. There must be one soul to which the others shall give up their essence. The memories will merge, but the one will control the others." He stepped closer and narrowed his eyes. "Is that not the way of the… ancient magic? What once was sundered must now be joined to the one – Horcruxian Fusion. Dark… very dark and dangerous. It must be well planned. To whom do I give my body?"

"Me," said Riddle immediately.

"_You?"_ snapped the wraithlike Voldemort incredulously. "Why you? It should be _me._"

"I made the two of you!" said Voldemort. "You're simply the parts I was willing to discard. If anyone should rule the three, it should be me!"

And so it began. A simple question began to turn into and all out brawl. While the three argued, Dakhil slipped over by Patrick, Draco and Harry.

"That should keep them going for awhile," he said with a smile. "I hope…" Harry was talking to him, but no words were coming out of his mouth. "Oh, sorry. _Necolo!_"

"…then why didn't…" Harry coughed. "I… I can talk."

"Your genius astounds me, Potter."

"Why can you use magic, but they can't," asked Draco.

"Simple," answered Patrick before Dakhil could. "He didn't use it to attack."

"Very good, young man," said Dakhil with a smile. "I don't believe we've spoken. You were a student of mine at Hogwarts, I believe?"

"Second year Gryffindor, Professor Barghouti. I'm Patrick… Patrick O'Riley. I've seen yeh teach the Dark Arts. I was the one that—"

"Ah yes," interrupted Dakhil. "Tragic. And you chose not to cross over? Why? Revenge?"

"No, sir. I promised Harry. We're both orphans yeh know? We swore an oath. I'd watch his back and he'd watch mine. I couldn't leave 'im alone. Not while these three still had a chance ter hurt 'im and his family."

"Impressive," said Dakhil, first looking at Patrick and then at Harry. "You do know, Mr. O'Riley, if it hadn't been for your friend Harry, Voldemort probably would never have tried to use you to kill him. If it hadn't been for Harry, Hogwarts would never have been attacked. If it hadn't been for Harry, you would have been a happy second year without a care in the world."

"No, sir," Patrick disagreed. "You're wrong. I don't know much about prophecies and destinies. All I know is that Harry was me first true wizard friend. If it hadn't been fer Harry Potter, I'd a never had the heart to speak to James Chang and Dennis Creevey and Cynthia Cormack and, well, if it hadn't been fer Harry… I'd be walkin' the halls at Hogwarts, but I'd be as dead as me parents. No, sir. Harry brought me me first smile and I wouldn' trade it fer all the could-a-beens in the world."

Dakhil nodded and smiled. "There's something to be said about that kind of conviction, Mr. O'Riley. I see the heart of the dragon in you." Dakhil reached out to shake Partick's hand and, when Patrick held his out in return, he reached up and grabbed him by the wrist. They shook in something of a roman handshake, a greeting that Harry remembered from last year when he took Mr. Darbinyan's hand in the same way. He rubbed his forearm.

The ground trembled, but the three dark wizards, locked in their power struggle, didn't notice.

"They'll figure it out, you know," said Draco with a nod toward the bickering Voldemorts. "By force most likely, if they can figure out a way. Do you have any other trick up your sleeve when that happens?"

Five more ghosts slipped up through the floor and shot toward the ceiling. Harry could hear them laugh with excitement. They were followed by another puff of white that materialized right next to Harry. It was the ghost of a woman, somewhere in her mid-forties a gash about her neck. She was radiant with joy, but was taking her time in crossing over, savouring every moment. When she saw Harry she swooped over to him, gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. He could feel her touch.

"Five hundred years… I never thought I'd see this day." She touched the gash on her neck, her eyes wandering to some distant memory. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

She floated up and out of view, her light disappearing into the darkness above.

"New girlfriend, Potter," drawled Draco.

"I… I felt that," Harry said.

"Well of course you did; you're both ghosts."

"I'm not dead! I can't be…" Harry held out his hand to touch Draco's shoulder. It passed straight through. He repeated the experiment on Dakhil with similar results. When he turned to Patrick, he was sure that he'd feel solid matter, but when he moved to touch him, Harry's hand passed through him again. He looked at Dakhil. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Draco's right, you're dead, Harry," answered Dakhil. "Part of you, at least. And that part wants to go on – to pass through this gate and enter the next plane. I think, perhaps, it's the part that feels responsible for so many deaths – your parents, Greg Goyle, Grigor, Mrs. Weasley… so many others. They call to you, Harry, not because you're guilty, but because they love you. With so many loved ones on the other side, it is an enormous temptation.

"The rest of us… me, Draco, the Voldemorts, even Patrick here… the rest of us are drawn to return."

"I'm with Harry," contended Patrick. "If he crosses, then I'm goin'—"

"Your heart is still at Hogwarts and as loyal a compatriot as you've been to Harry, your best friend lies on his knees next to his sister near at the falls of the Forbidden Forest. Without you, Patrick, your friend James will wander the halls alone and lifeless. This, your heart will not allow."

"It's not true, Harry," said Patrick looking up at his fellow Gryffindor, but his voice lacked conviction.

Harry wasn't really sure it mattered. Patrick would live a cursed existence as a ghost and Harry wasn't really sure why Dakhil was tempting him to return when he finally had a chance at eternal peace. Yet those questions were secondary. What mattered were the three evil wizards now nearly coming to blows in the darkness.

"If I'm to cross over, Dakhil?" Harry asked. "Can I take them with me?"

"This is crazy," interjected Draco. "You're not going anywhere, Harry. I have no intentions of going back. If anyone's doing _any_ crossing, it's me, is that clear! I'll take the bastards to Never Never Land. How do I do it Dakhil?"

"Like always," said Dakhil, "you deceive yourself, Draco. We heard him, you and I, when we were fighting in the air over the falls. I saw the flash in your eyes, the glimmer of recognition that allowed you to, if only momentarily, push away Voldemort's domination of your mind and take control yourself long enough to see Mr. Zabini calling your name. You whispered his name return, just before we were trapped into the dragon's eye. Like Patrick, your heart is at the shores of the lake above the falls, not into the ether above."

Draco began to say something, but Harry jumped in first. "Dragon's eye?" he asked excitedly. His arm was tingling and for the first time he allowed himself to believe that Singehorn was not dead. Thoughts, ideas, broken phrases ran across his mind. He knew this place. It was the same place he had fallen into when he had rescued Sirius. The eyes that had been staring at him, watching him… They weren't eyes at all; it was one eye… one watcher… "Singehorn… Singehorn's Eye…" Harry muttered aloud.

His mind thought to the Marauders' Eye, high on the tower of Hogwarts. Dimension, space, even time had no meaning there. He'd never said, but he and Ron could watch three Quidditch matches and be back to bed before two in the morning, though the next day always felt as if they hadn't slept for a week. They both had been sure Hermione would want to stop them so she could investigate.

But the Marauders' eye was always well lit. This place was dark, beyond reason. No matter, Harry knew the spell to free them. He pulled his wand declaring, "I can get us out of here!"

"Wait, Harry," implored Dakhil. "If you leave now, it's not clear where you'll end up. A gateway has been opened and your compass is not pointing in the right direction. You may pass through to the other side."

"You've been talking about hearts, Dakhil," said Harry with confidence. "Then you should know where my heart lies. Gabriella was also at the falls. I would never leave her! Never!"

"I understand, Harry," said Dakhil softly, but his face was conflicted. There was something he needed to say, but wasn't sure how best to say it. It was the first time Harry had ever seen Dakhil at a loss for words. His eyes were pained and that look began to penetrate into Harry. Fear began to build in his heart.

"What is it, Dakhil," he asked. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Gabriella's vision was not wrong," he said finally.

"I know that," said Harry. "I… I saw Tonks die tonight. She was the one wearing the white robe, not Gabriella. What's your point?"

"The vision Gabriella has had since a child, the terror that welled up from within her, the horror of facing her own demise… they were all tied together. White robes… her own death. One was not separate from the other. She did not understand this, but Soseh did. She told me."

"Told you what?"

"Gabriella's fear of death was real, Harry, because she knew she would die. Her mind interpreted the arrow and the white cloak as the cause, but it needn't be both. If she had not truly been destined for death this evening, then she would have clearly interpreted the vision of Tonks' death. Instead, she tied the two together into one. That was a mistake, but Soseh chose not to tell her. It was, she said, in fate's hands. Somehow, this evening, the white robes will have a hand in the death of your wife."

"Take it back!" Harry yelled, balling his hands in a fist, knowing that even if he wanted to strike, he couldn't, not here.

"You know as well as I – the Votary and the House of Hayk are intertwined. You bear a connubial ring; you don't need me to know her fate, Harry. Your soul knows already. What does your mind tell you?"

Harry had been so engrossed in what had been happening to him that he'd lost sight of Gabriella and he cursed himself for it. He needed only to reach out slightly before he sensed her terror. She was being attacked.

"NO!" Harry cried. The shout was enough to disrupt the arguments of the Voldemorts.

"Singehorn!" yelled Harry. "SINGEHORN! I know you're here! As Primate of the Votary, I command you – show me my wife!"

The floor began to rumble, rolling into a violent quake and tossing everyone to the ground. Suddenly a dome of fire appeared above them. It was like looking up at the ceiling of a planetarium that suddenly split open, revealing the heavens above. More properly, it was as if a giant dragon had just opened his eyes and they were inside looking out. The great darkness that had surrounded them opened up into a night time sky that was on fire, only the scene kept moving as the dragon looked around. They were peering through fire and, as the scene changed through the flames above, he could see the reflection of a large sphere ablaze with wisps of gold, red and purple upon the still surface of water. It was a bit disorienting. Like hanging vampire bats, they were looking up at the lake of the falls, but nothing seemed to be moving. Even the splash of the white water over the rocks seemed petrified.

"Look!" said Patrick as he pointed at James who was kneeling at his sister's side. He was moving, but Blaise who was still standing at the lake looking up at them, appeared frozen in time. Draco looked down on him with concern. A white cloak floated at the shore's edge as if someone was actually wearing it. The eye continued to open until they, still standing on a dark velvety platform of some sort, could see in all directions.

"Gabriella!" exclaimed Harry, moving toward the edge of their glasslike enclosure. The eye stopped moving and held its gaze upon her. "Gabriella!" he cried again. Then, turning to Dakhil, he asked, "Can't they see us? We're standing right here!"

"No. We are but fire and light in their eyes," said Dakhil shaking his head.

Harry could see Gabriella and Ron with their wands out. Then he watched in horror as events unfolded. First the glimmering white robes, Voldemort's Horcrux, dropped James… then Ron… Voldemort grabbed Jamie and when Gabriella leapt to save him she splashed into the waters and disappeared.

Voldemort held Harry's son to the waters, silvery fingers wrapping about the child's arms and legs. _Did he think the waters would destroy the child?_ He withdrew from the lake and glided over to Cho. He held his arm out and Jamie's smiling face went blank, his body stiffened and black smoke issued forth into the robes. The child fell lifeless at Cho's side.

"No," Harry whispered. "NO!"

In a matter of seconds, everything and everyone he loved had been destroyed. "It can't be," said Harry in a hushed voice. "Singehorn! Let me go!" He pounded on the surface of the eye. Harry wasn't the only one watching as the scene played out.

"There it is!" Voldemort sneered, cold and high. He was standing next to Harry, peering out at the same scene. He pointed at the white robes. "Yes… YES… _He_ can choose, for he is naught but honesty and light. He has no interest in our future and, if asked, he will select the most capable of leading this trinity. It is beyond him, after all, to tell a lie. Shall we go by the word of Tom Riddle? Is it agreed?"

The three swore an oath and bound it with some sort of dark evil that Harry didn't understand, nor did he care to. He was busy watching in horror as not even bubbles breached the surface where Gabriella had disappeared into the depths. His heart sank with her.

"Begin the summons," the wraithlike Voldemort demanded. "I am eager to leave this gateway."


	51. The Death of Tom Riddle

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 5****1 – The Death of Tom Riddle**

**~~~***~~~**

When Gabriella splashed into the lake she was surprised to find that the water wasn't wet. The sensation was more akin to being thrown into a great thicket of nettles. The small pinpricks tore away her clothes and began to plunge into her flesh; she covered her face with her hands and screamed in agony. The pain was intense and she wondered if, perhaps, this was what it would feel like to burn alive. The only thing saving her from plunging into pure terror was the belief that she would soon be with her Harry. The wars of the world would fall away and, at last, they would simply have each other to hold and to love. A wave of peace passed over her and, in that moment, the pain ceased.

Still holding her breath, she looked upward to the water's surface. All was dark accept for a fiery circle she knew to be the glowing sphere that hovered over the lake. She tried to swim up, but something had hold of her ankle and was pulling her deeper down. When she could bear it no longer, she gasped for air. There was none to be had, nor was water spilling into her lungs. She didn't know if she were suffocating, or if she was already dead. She continued to descend and the glowing disk above began to fade to darkness. When all light faded, she heard voices.

"_The sword defends; it does not attack!"_

"_Murderer!"_

"_Defender of the innocent!"_

Something, or some things were swirling about her. Initially, Gabriella couldn't make out who or what they were, but their bodies began to shimmer and then glow. Flowing strips of golden and emerald cloth slipped by in the water, lit by some unnatural light that made them sparkle like the stars at night. The light became more intense until she could discern the colour of their hair and the radiance of their eyes. One's hair flowed in wisps of ebon smoke while the other was brilliantly blonde.

"_She killed her father!"_

"_You can't be serious. She is a child of the deep waters."_

"_The salt water has affected your senses, sister; she belongs to me!"_

"Nymphs!" Gabriella whispered in astonishment.

The one with black hair stopped in the water and turned toward Gabriella. She was somewhat larger than the other nymph in both stature and girth, but she slipped through the water like a hummingbird in the air. The top of her torso bare, shimmering emerald fabric draped about her waist and flowed down her hips in something of a tattered skirt. She was no mermaid for she had legs and no discernable gills. She appeared quite human, but her appearance was more beautiful, bearing a majestic manner. Her eyes radiated a cool green light that was neither threatening, nor welcoming and her dark skin suggested that she might belong to the Mediterranean and, in this regard, Gabriella felt an immediate kinship.

Her sister, if she could be called that, was slender and wore a similar garment that began at the waist and flowed about her hips. Her skin was fair and the fabric she wore was a glittering gold. Her eyes radiated a warm golden yellow. The two were different in stature and wore different clothes, but this one's expression was anything but impassive. She was furious and eager for judgement. Her eyes told Gabriella that her moments left in this world would soon be at an end, if they weren't already.

The dark haired one swam closer, held out her hand and somehow stopped Gabriella from sinking further into the water. Instead, she was frozen in place. She could move with difficulty. It felt as if she were being suspended by some invisible net. The larger nymph came nose to nose with Gabriella, her green eyes penetrating Gabriella's mind.

"Nymphs?" she said irritably. "Did you call _me_ a nymph?"

"You mean _us,_" said the other condescendingly.

"No, my dear Melusina… Clearly _you_ could be a nymph. If only you'd eat more than watercress and silverfish. I on the other hand am a—"

"—Big, fat manatee is what you are, Maia!"

The still water began to boil. Gabriella could feel the heat and drew energy from it. She was, somehow, alive.

"Your temper has the better of you, Mel," said Maia coolly. "This evening alone you have claimed a half-dozen. More if you include those below the falls. I understand your anger at the battle now waging about your waters, but you rush to judgement. Can you not discern the difference now before you?"

"You're as soft as your flesh!" snapped Melusina. "None have been worthy, let alone the sea snake slithering there." Maia turned back toward Gabriella and shrugged.

"You may be right."

Gabriella tried to speak, tried to protest and assert her innocence, but no words would come. The waters had silenced her. Maia noticed the attempt and smiled, knowingly. She then reached her hand toward Gabriella's forehead. Gabriella could feel the power of the goddess approach even before her touch. In an instant, her life flashed by and Maia withdrew her hand.

"The darkness here does not run deep," said Maia softly. "It would be a simple manner to—"

"You've said that before!" yelled Melusina. "'Purity of spirit,' you said. And what happened? Tell me, Maia, what happened!"

"He was defending!"

"That's a lie!" hissed Melusina. "He thirsted for power and wielded it like all the others. He is now a murderer… a murderer just like this one. And she… she gave that power to him. Duty bound to protect one of nature's greatest gifts… this one knew and let it happen."

Melusina swam up behind Maia and placed her hands on her shoulders. They both now faced Gabriella who felt more and more like a rat in a cage waiting to be fed to a snake.

"Even now," whispered Melusina, "our waters mix with the fires of the dragon and peer into the gate beyond. He is there. You know this. All he needs is a small… _push_… and you will have corrected a great wrong."

"It is not so."

"Isn't it?"

Melusina slipped in front of Maia, grabbed Gabriella by the left wrist and held up her hand in front of her. The touch was cold and when Gabriella looked, she saw her fingers begin to darken to a bruised purplish-blue. Melusina then swirled her other hand in small circles until a golden bubble was created in the water. The sphere was about the size of a Quaffle.

The tips of Gabriella's fingers began to tingle and when she tried to move them, she found she couldn't. Again she opened her mouth to complain, but her voice was silent. Maia simply looked at them both, pensive in her demeanour. It was then Gabriella noticed her ring, the one Harry had given her. The firestones had never dimmed on the ring. To the contrary, they had grown brighter with each passing moon. Only now, their brilliance had faded completely. Melusina's golden eyes beamed with satisfaction.

"Observe," she said with a smirk. "Let's see what precepts the _Chosen_ will follow when all is lost."

Images began to appear in the silver orb that she had created with her other hand. They were outside the Dragon's Eye, looking in. There was Patrick's ghost and next to him… Harry. Gabriella gasped and struggled to get a closer look. Was it him? Was he a ghost too?

His hands appeared to be pressed up against the clear sides of the orb floating in front of Gabriella. He was looking at something, a look of terror on his face. Then… then he noticed something on his hand. His face went pale and he crumpled to the floor.

"_HARRY!"_ screamed Gabriella. This time both Maia and Melusina heard her.

* * *

~~~***~~~

Harry's face was pressed up against the clear surface of the Dragon's Eye as he watched her splash in. _"GABRIELLA!"_ he cried out as he pounded the clear surface holding him within the gate. It was then that he noticed his hand. The band on his ring finger was fading. One could always see it, even in the dark, but now it only shimmered against Patrick's glow and even that was weakening. Harry reached out his mind, searching for his love and felt nothing but the pained heart of Dakhil Barghouti.

She was gone.

He smashed against the fiery sphere that was the gateway to death and cried out her name once more. The ground rumbled in sorrow, but that's all it could do. Singehorn, whatever he had become, was no more in control of what was happening than Harry was.

A gathering of spirits flittered upward through the floor and Harry's heart skipped for a moment, wondering if perhaps… _"Gabriella?"_ They disappeared and Harry crumpled to the ground, his eyes beginning to mist.

Nothing was left. His wife, his child, his friends, everything had been destroyed. Harry had been defeated by the final Horcrux, because he wasn't there to defend them. Had it happened again? Had he used the stone for his own self-serving purposes? Was he no better than the darkness now huddled together in front of him, discussing their plans? What did it matter? Maybe Draco was right, maybe it was time to pass on.

Dakhil knelt to one knee and placed a heavy hand on Harry's shoulder. "Do not let this defeat you. You must return," he said. Harry just shook his head.

"I've lost. It's over."

Draco pushed Patrick out of the way and grabbed Harry by the front of his cloak.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" he asked with a tight voice. "They just murdered your family and you're going to let them get away with it? The deal was we destroy them while we can and you…," he patted Harry's chest just over the stone, "…you have the only way we can do it. Close the gate and destroy them all! Send us all to oblivion, I don't give a damn! I won't let him win!"

The idea began to burn into Harry's mind – one last cleansing. The fire would destroy them all, but what of the robes still on the lake? And what of the ghosts now passing to the other side? Would the gate close? Did it matter? Would any of it even make a difference?

Riddle and the two Voldemorts began to chant.

"Get up, Potter!" snapped Draco. "They're calling him, the last Horcrux. When he arrives, use the stone!"

"_Yes… yes I could use the stone,"_ thought Harry, anger burning in his empty heart, revenge filling his lost soul. He could wipe them all out in one final blast of power; he knew it was still within him. What did it matter to Dakhil? He'd lived long enough.

In that moment, Harry heard the distant giggling of a woman echoing about the chamber. He turned, but saw no one. Shrugging, he searched his mind for ways to destroy them all, using the memories given him at the Joining. Finally he settled on one, a powerful spell of destruction. It came from the age of Pravus when he used it to destroy the wizarding city of Petroska. The city, like the Dragon's Eye, had been enchanted so that it could not be attacked directly, but it could be _cleansed_ and, after all, that was what he was doing – cleansing. They would be wiped clean; nothing would remain. It was the last time Pravus used the stone; the House of Hayk saw to that.

Harry was concentrating on the spell, considering where to centre its energy, when a flash of white light blinded them all. He saw the white robes appear and, holding his hand over his chest, raised his wand. "For you, Gabriella," he whispered.

"Harry, no!" implored Dakhil, but Harry's mind was bent on hate and revenge. It would end as Draco had demanded – they would all be sent to oblivion.

"_Minuo Maxi —"_

Harry stopped. Looking up at him was a child not yet six years old draped in a white robe that made him appear as if he'd just stepped from the bath. His small, bare feet looked as if they should be wearing bunny slippers. Like Patrick, the child's body glowed with a blue aura and, though his skin was pale, his form was solid and substantial, lacking the transparency of the others. In contrast, his dark hair was ruffled in a dozen different directions not unlike Harry's own. His dark green eyes were wide with curiosity, taking in everything about him and, when they set upon Harry, he smiled.

"Hello," he said with a high voice that was not cold at all, but warm and welcoming and eager. Just one word, asking for a simple response, but Harry was having none of it. He'd not be tricked again. He was ready to kill and kill he would. Again, echoing all about the cavern, he heard the giggling of a woman. He shook his head and refocused his thoughts. He'd destroy them all and centre that hatred on this one just for good measure. The prophecy would, at last, be fulfilled. He lowered his wand directly at the child and his hand began to shake.

Three times he tried to form the words in his mouth and three times he failed. He was beginning to feel physically nauseous and perspiration was popping out all over his forehead. Gabriella had told him that he would always have a choice, but what choice was this? _Killing a small child?_

Harry bit the side of his lip. This was no small child – it was evil incarnate. He tried to form the spell again, but there was something greater than hate inside him, holding him back. She had said that the robes were everything pure about Tom Riddle. If not, the waters of the lake would have washed them away.

"I… have to… kill you," sputtered Harry, his own voice shaking with his hand. Tom Riddle's smile faded and he padded over to the Primate of the Votary and stood only a few feet from him, examining the holly in his hand as if it was nothing more than the branch of a tree.

"Why?" Tom asked innocently.

The voice was small and thin, but filled with unencumbered compassion so sincere that Harry broke down again. It was if he could hear her calling to him – Gabriella would not want this. Visions and emotions of the hearts that had touched his mind in the Joining slipped through his thoughts. There he saw laughter and love, compassion and forgiveness. Harry fell to his knees and dropped his wand in defeat.

"What am I doing?" he whispered to himself as he looked down at his hands. "Not like this… I can't let it end like this."

"Harry, no!" said Draco angrily.

"What is this scab?" screeched the wraithlike Voldemort, pointing at the young boy. He turned to the others. "_Thiss_ is what you would have determine our fate? I thought… _Argh!_"

"The boy will still choose," said Riddle with confidence, perhaps recognizing a closer kinship to this soul than the other two. The other Voldemort stepped forward.

"He is still one of us. Come here, boy!" he commanded. Tom did not respond; he was so curious about the wet drops falling down Harry's cheeks that he didn't even hear the demand.

"I said, come here!" Voldemort yelled again. This time he stepped over and grabbed Tom roughly by the shoulder. The child, his back toward his attacker, held up his hand and a flash of yellow light pulsed outward in all directions, throwing Voldemort a good ten metres backwards on his arse. Then, slowly, he turned to see the three souls that had cast him away. His brow furled with concentration, trying to understand, trying to remember why they seemed so familiar. A spark of recognition appeared. He brought his two hands together and cupped them.

"I- I thought these were mine," Tom said, looking down at a number of tiny glowing lights that were floating in his hands. They were green and sinister. "I found them by the lake; others had taken them." He looked back at the two Voldemorts. "I guess… I guess they belong to you two. I'm sorry."

Three tiny lights floated up out of Tom's hands and passed toward the wraithlike Voldemort; another went to the Voldemort Harry had killed at the Ministry. They were the darkness, the stain that they'd left behind in the others. Tom had taken the evil, the touch of death Voldemort had deposited, out of Harry's friends, had removed the stain of the curse that Voldemort had passed to Harry and he to his son, and in removing that death left them to sleep in suspended time with all the others about the lake. They had been freed from Voldemort's touch and were now, unremarkable like all the others, waiting for time to restart.

The tiny lights shot toward the Voldemorts and penetrated their eyes, the sudden inrush of evil causing even them to scream in agony. Riddle laughed at his soul mates.

"There will be opportunity enough to plant more seeds when we return to Hogwarts. Ginny Weasley comes to mind," he said with a snicker. "Now, boy, come over here. We have a question for you." Again Tom's brow furled.

"It's too noisy here," he said. There was a snap and white walls popped out of the floor, surrounding Harry and Tom in small room. They were alone – Harry on his knees and Tom Riddle standing, looking at him eye to eye with curiosity.

"What's your name?" asked Tom.

"Harry… Harry Potter." The Gryffindor just looked down at the dark ground.

"Are you sad?"

"No… Y-Yes."

"Why?"

For a moment Harry didn't answer. His mind was mulling over what had just happened. His friends had not been destroyed; they had been saved from the hidden darkness Voldemort had implanted within them, the same darkness that had killed Patrick. Even his son, Jamie had been cleansed. But Gabriella… Gabriella had fallen into the lake and Harry knew the waters would not be kind to her. The fading band about his finger was proof enough of that.

"I've lost someone very dear to me," he said finally. Tom simply nodded his head, perhaps not truly understanding what that meant, but wishing it to seem that he did.

"I lost my mother," he gave in response. "She died when I was born. Her name was Merope."

"I lost my mother too," said Harry, the words spilling before he realized he was beginning a conversation with the one who had killed her. _Or had he?_ "When… when I was very young. Erm… her name was… Lilly."

Again, Tom Riddle nodded his head knowingly and then sat down next to Harry.

"Those three…" He pointed through one of the white walls. "Do you know them?"

"They're your… your brothers," answered Harry not really sure how to explain, not really sure if Tom could understand, though something in the boy's eyes bore a wisdom far greater than that of a small child.

"Well, they're not very nice."

"No, no they're not," agreed Harry grimly. "But we don't get to choose our family, do we?" said Harry. His thoughts turned to Vernon and Petunia. And then, his mind on Dudley, he said, "Still, sometimes things change."

"You'd make a nicer brother than any of them."

Harry shrugged.

"I mean, your mom died, my mom died. We both have black hair and green eyes. We're like twins! Can you talk to snakes?" he asked eagerly.

Harry nodded.

"Excellent!" Tom moved so that Harry could look him in the eyes. They were shining brightly with glee. "Can we be friends then?"

"Yeah," said Harry with a sad smile. "Sure. We orphans… we have to stick together, eh?"

Whispers began to flit about Harry's ears. _"You left the orphan to die, Harry."_ They were the whispers of death he knew all to well. He half-expected a reaper to appear at his side, but he was trapped alone with Tom Riddle. The thought of the four white walls being a trap made his heart skip. The whispers grew louder. _"Will you right the wrong, Harry?"_ Tom noticed the expression on Harry's face.

"Can you hear them too?" he asked. "The voices just on the other side?" Tom shifted his position uncomfortably and sighed; the innocence on his face waned. "It won't matter where I go, you know. They'll find me. They'll come back."

The echoes of the veil in the Death Chamber at the Ministry where Harry had first lost Sirius slipped into his mind. And then Luna's words soon followed. "They'll come back; they always do in the end."

"Gabriella," he whispered, a glimmer of hope entering his heart. The floor rumbled. Tom didn't seem to notice. His eyes were focused straight at the wall, the other side of which stood his soul mates.

"They don't think I know," he said staring blankly ahead. "They think I haven't seen." He turned to face Harry and now tears were streaming down Tom's cheeks. "But I have seen, Harry. I have seen." He was scared. "Your… your mother, she was a proud and beautiful woman and she… she loved you so much."

He began to cry and Harry couldn't help but to offer him comfort. Tom fell into his arms and wept into Harry's shoulder. "I was there… I was always there."

Holding Tom as he cried, images began to flash across Harry's mind too fast for him to take them all in. An orphanage, a small child bleeding from the ears for no apparent reason. Hogwarts, the summoning of the Basilisk and the death of Myrtle. The assembly of Death Eaters and the creation of an inferi army. The search for the child of the prophecy, Harry's parents and the blinding white flash – death. Harry pulled away.

"Y-You…" Harry stammered, pushing himself backward away from Tom. "You _were_ there. You killed my—"

"No!" pleaded Tom. "No, it wasn't me! I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't listen. They never listened." Tom's face fell into his hands. "And then he ripped me away, used me to keep him safe so he could… so he could…" He shuddered and then brought his face from his hands and looked at Harry once more. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

Little Tom's eyes were red, but not with evil, with the pain of enduring decades of evil. He had been trapped to endure atrocities Harry couldn't even begin to imagine. The child was alone; he'd always been alone. The emotions of Harry's childhood in Little Whinging came flooding back. In many ways, they really weren't that much different; Harry's pure voice had been just a little bit stronger.

Harry stepped over to Tom who had crawled into the corner to cry. He took him by the shoulders, turned him and knelt to one knee. With his thumbs he wiped the tears away and ruffled Tom's hair.

"It's okay," he said softly. "It's not your fault. I… I forgive you."

He hugged Tom and the ground rumbled again. Again, he heard a female's voice, or voices… laughter mixed with screaming… voices coming from a distant cavern that faded to nothing. When he pulled back, Harry moved to wipe the tears from Tom's face once more. The crying had stopped and something of a smile had replaced the sadness. Brushing Tom's cheek he noticed his own hand. The band on his ring finger had darkened, the imprint of his love had returned.

"Gabriella!" he said out loud. Harry looked at the four walls and then back to the little boy. "Tom—"

"I know… we can't stay in here forever." He raised his hand. "I wish we could, but we can't." He took in a deep breath as if gathering himself for something. "I'll miss you, Harry. Will you do me one more favour?"

"Sure, what is it?"

The walls dropped.

They were still in the eye, still looking down at the motionless lake, reflecting the fiery orb and the heavens that glowed above. Patrick stood next to Dakhil; they had been talking. Draco was standing near one wall as it fell; Riddle, and the two Voldemorts stood by another. Harry ran past Draco to the edge of the eye and pressed himself against its surface.

"She's still there!" he said. "I know she is – just beyond the surface. Can you sense it, Dakhil?"

"You didn't kill him!" yelled Draco.

"Come here, child!" yelled Voldemort. Harry turned back and saw them grab Tom by the robes he was wearing.

"Leave him alone!" he yelled. "He doesn't belong to you!"

"And what do you intend to do about it, Potter," sneered Riddle. "You're nothing but a wisp of smoke, not long for this world. Go on… pass to the other side and get it over with! I've been there… you deserve each other." Riddle stepped over and jokingly poked at Harry's chest, expecting his hand would pass all the way through. It didn't and Harry grabbed his finger and held it tight.

"I can send you back to hell," Harry hissed. "That's what I can do about it!"

Fear spread across Riddle's face and his companions grabbed the boy and held him like a shield as they stepped back from Harry. No one was sure what was possible in the gateway and they weren't willing to take any chances.

"Kill him!" cried Draco.

"No!" yelled Tom. "Harry, don't. You can't." He shook loose of Voldemort and stepped toward Harry. "You're wrong; I do belong to them. We belong to each other."

"The boy speaksss sense," said the wraithlike Voldemort with a hiss. "Lisssten to him!"

"But—"

"Let me do this, Harry," interrupted Tom. "Trust me."

The other Voldemort laughed, but then quickly stifled his mirth to conceal his enthusiasm. "Yes, trust us!"

Harry let Riddle go and the three souls of evil surrounded the one shining star.

"We have agreed," said Voldemort in eager anticipation, "by the Unbreakable Oath, that you shall decide which one of us is to lead our return. It is left to you, boy. Choose wisely." Voldemort stepped closer, perhaps thinking that it would give him the advantage.

Surrounded, Tom surveyed the evil enveloping him. He stepped toward Riddle who was handsome and smiled. He turned and examined Voldemort who stood tall and powerful. He then looked the wraithlike Voldemort in the eyes, assessing his cunning and stealth. Then he looked over at Harry who was lost as to what he might do should Voldemort return to plague Hogwarts and the rest of the Wizarding world once again.

"I have decided," said Tom with a small voice. All three stepped closer. "I will lead our return." There was a cacophony of screams and cries of protest. Almost at once, Riddle and the two Voldemorts began to fade. The deal had been struck. The soul which would lead the return of the others was that of Tom… Tom Riddle.

Harry wasn't sure what that meant. Tom had told him that he didn't have the power to fight back against the others. Would he be consumed once more by the darkness inside him? Tom stepped toward Harry. His soul mates, compelled to do so, followed in his wake.

"I will lead our return… and the return will be to the other plane. Our time on this world has come to an end!"

There were more screams. In their haste to bind the oath, the dark wizards hadn't specified where they would be returning to. It had seemed so obvious that their return would be to the earthly plane. Voldemort who was only half as substantive as he was a moment before screamed the least, for his eyes glimmered as if he knew something the others did not.

"You're a fool, boy!" he snapped. "Your path leads only one way and that is back to the forest below. You have no pass to the other plane, for you haven't died! You can not will yourself beyond without another's hand."

"You are right, brother," said Tom. "I must give my spark to another." He stepped toward Patrick and held out his hand. In it was a bright blue glow, his life's force. The others tried to swipe at his arm, but they only passed through like smoke.

"I have harmed you wrongly, Patrick. I have harmed many wrongly, but I only have one life to give and you… you are here. Harry says that we orphans have to stick together." He smiled. "Will you take this spark as your own, turn what it might have been into something that will heal our world?"

Patrick's jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. He stepped toward Tom in disbelief, but stopped and looked at Harry, asking with his eyes if it was okay.

"SSSSily boy," sneered the wraithlike Voldmeort. "Patrick, the spark will only bring your spirit back to life. Without substance, you will still be little better than a ghost. You will be forced to seek a host as did I. All will fear you as they feared me. It will be a cursed life, a half life."

"It is true," said Tom in agreement, "but it is all I have to offer."

"Take me!" called out Draco. "Take my body. Let me pass to the other—"

"No," interrupted Dakhil. He began to laugh and walked over to Harry. "You've done it, man!" He reached out and grabbed Harry's shoulder. The grip was firm. "Soseh said… and I couldn't… I wouldn't believe." He sighed and turned back to his protégé.

"I'm an old man, Draco. The world has changed and I'm tired of changing with it. There will be more battles, more darkness to fight. That's a game for young men. My time has come at last."

He placed his palm on Draco's head. "All that was mine is now yours." A dark green glow spread out and covered Draco's body. He shuddered and the light vanished. When he looked back up to Dakhil, his eyes were pained. Then, he nodded.

"I understand," he said to his mentor.

"Patrick, I can't think of anyone I'd rather do this for. You stuck by Harry when you could have been with your parents… your family. You will see them soon enough. For me, it's been a millennium; I'm ready to let go. I can give you my corporeal form, but I don't know what that will mean. Will you be a vampire? An old withered man? I don't know. What I do know is that you will be able to breathe, and smile, and love, and enjoy the company of those who love you back. You'll have a life and it will be yours to live. Will you take my offer?"

Again, Patrick turned uncertainly to Harry. This time Harry nodded.

"If yeh see me mum an' da," said Patrick, looking up to Dakhil, "tell 'em… tell 'em I love 'em. "

"Dakhil," added Harry. "I don't know what you'll find, but if you see Luna Lovegood's mother, tell her the same, will you?"

"Bloody owl is what I am," he said with a smile. "You both have my word. Tom, shall we begin?"

"It requires the hand of another," said Tom. "Harry, you know the spell. Gabriella used it to bring her brother back to life. Will you do this for us… one last favour?"

Harry nodded.

"No!" yelled the other Voldemorts. They tried to move in on their innocent soul, but a sudden onslaught of ghosts shot up through the floor and began to swirl about. They were hollering and laughing. It sounded like a drunken party and they wanted the Voldemorts to join in.

"We're heading home! We're heading home!" they cried with glee.

In the confusion, Harry held up his hands and began to chant in a tongue that had been passed to him from Gabriella during the Joining, a chant he had heard her utter in the Death Chamber below the Ministry when Grigor gave up his body to Antreas' life force. His voice grew louder and stronger with every verse and a blue glow began to appear about his fingers.

"By the Heart of Asha!" he declared and he pointed his wand at Tom. The glow of his hands traveled down the holly and a swirl of glowing blue mist spun in towards Tom's chest.

"The Joining!" he cried out, and then, "Patrick O'Riley!" The spark of Tom Riddle passed from his body and penetrated Patrick's chest. At once, Patrick's body began to become more substantive. Tom, to the contrary, began to fade and, as he did so, he collected the others with him. They were ripped from the revellers arms and were absorbed into his back. Dark shadows appeared under his eyes at once as their faint screams of protest died away.

"The gate will not be open long," he said, struggling to control the evil within. "I must go." He held out his hand and one of the partying ghosts grabbed it. "We're going home!" He smiled. There was a flash of light and the white spirits ascended through the eye and out into the heavens, disappearing into a background of fiery stars.

Dakhil turned to Harry. "Primate, give my best to the others and my love to Soseh. If I had been younger…" He sighed once more and smiled.

"I will," said Harry softly.

"I look forward to the day we meet again. Take this, he may find use for it." He handed Harry his wand, ten inches of solid oak. "Our time together has been short, but by Asha's Heart what a lifetime of stories it will bring!" Dakhil moved toward Draco and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Draco, you have seen the incantation. You know its purpose. I ask that I leave this world by your hand. Will you give me the honour?"

Draco looked up and a tear slipped down the side of his face. He nodded and Dakhil gave him a small bow.

Draco repeated the spell, only this time Dakhil placed his hands on Patrick's shoulders. A golden glow travelled down his arms and into Patrick's body. Patrick fell unconscious to the ground. Harry started forward, but Dakhil stopped him.

"He's alright," said Dakhil, his form now fading as well. "The new trinity within him has to meet, must get to know each other. That will take time. It's like being born anew." He continued to fade.

"Remember, Harry, stories… I expect to hear some good stories." He looked to the heavens above. "I do so hope they have pipe tobac—" Dakhil disappeared, a white glow in his stead. It hovered for a moment and then shot upwards, following the path Tom and the other spirits had taken. With Patrick asleep on the dark ground, Draco and Harry were alone.

They were silent for some time and at last Draco looked up at Harry. "She said it would happen… I wanted it to be true. I just didn't think…" He shook his head.

"Who, Draco?"

"Soseh. The night we first met she took my hand. She said that, in the end, you and I would stand alone… victorious against the darkness. I though if we could kill them, we would…" He swallowed and shook his head, looking at his feet, long strands of grimy blond hair hanging over his face. "I don't feel much like celebrating."

Harry looked down at the waters. "No… there's still work to be done." He examined his hand. The band about his finger continued to grow brighter. He was confident she was alive; he could sense her presence, but she still had not appeared at the water's edge.

"I'm not going back, Harry."

"But you said—"

"He needed a reason and I gave him one. Dakhil's wrong, there's nothing for me out there. You… you've got… you've got family. Me… I thought maybe Dakhil, but now…" He shook his head. "There's no one left that would die for me."

"I'd die for you, Draco."

"Potter, you'd die for anybody." Draco laughed, trying to be comical, but his eyes betrayed his sadness. He stood up and gently pushed Harry on the chest. "Go on. Get out of—" It was then he noticed the talisman hanging about Harry's neck by a thin strap of leather. It was a small flat disk.

"You… you kept this?" asked Draco, fingering the flat disk as it revealed his own reflection. Harry nodded with a smile.

"Come here, Draco," he said, waving his friend to follow. "You need to see this."

Draco walked over and looked down at the wizards suspended in time. Some held out their wands, still in the midst of battle. Others were panicked and scared.

"There," said Harry pointing near the cluster of rocks near where Tonks had been killed. He didn't need to; Draco's eyes were already set to the same spot. There, holding his hands about his mouth, was Blaise Zabini. He was calling up to them, calling up to Draco. "I think, if you looked in the mirror again, you'd see something different."

"I'm a vampire, Harry. There's no way he would—"

"What the hell do you think you were when he called out to you?" Harry snapped. "Do you think he didn't know? He was at the castle when the attack came. He was injured and could have stayed in the caverns with the other students, but he risked his life to join Sirius and the others to come to the lake. Why is that, Draco? Was it his bravery? Do you think it was for me? For Hogwarts? Hah! Zabini's a Slytherin. The only thing he cares about is himself and maybe… maybe you, Draco – vampire face and all."

Draco moved to the invisible wall and held his hand flat against it as he gazed down.

"Whatever Dakhil gave you just now… don't waste it. You're immortal, Draco. You can be part of something that lasts forever, something that has a mission to do good for all eternity. Let me help you get started. After all this… don't I count as family?"

He began to reach for the Ring of Onyx, but the ground began to rumble once more. The giant lid started to close and the cloak of impenetrable darkness returned without the aid of Patrick's glow. They both lit their wands as another spirit rose through the floor. The wisp of white smoke took shape. It was Helena. She was smiling brightly.

"I am the last, Harry. The gate begins to close." She held out her hand, her radiance and beauty filling the darkness with light. "Will you come with me?" For a moment, Harry considered it. He took a step forward and Draco grabbed him about the chest.

"He's got family to attend to," Draco snapped. "We both do. Be on your way!"

"I understand," Helena said with a courteous bow. "She is quite gorgeous." She stepped over and kissed Harry on the cheek and then did the same to Draco. "You were both very brave tonight. Because of you, thousands have made their way home."

Her form dissolved to smoke, there was a flash and she shot upward through the darkness. As they watched her disappear, they noticed the darkness brighten. The fire was burning its way inside the chamber. Flames of red and gold and purple were closing in on them. By the second, both heat and light grew more intense. Harry could withstand the flames, but not Patrick, not Draco. He positioned himself next to Patrick's body.

"Draco!" he called. "Come here! Take my hand!"

Draco seemed stunned, watching as the flames continued to roil, growing brighter and brighter. He held out his hand, the heat singing his flesh. At last he had overcome his fear.

"HURRY!"

Harry's cries broke Draco's trance and he ran over to join him. Harry grabbed his hand and pulled him close, pressing him down against Patrick and shielding them both with his body. The ground began to quake fiercely.

Harry held his hand against the dark loamy earth. "Good-bye my friend," he whispered. "May you find a special place in the heavens."

There was a tremendous explosion and they were engulfed in streams of flame and unimaginable heat. The explosion roared in their ears – a thousand dragons breathing fire. The deafening roar continued as the explosion blasted outward. Then, suddenly it stopped and all went quiet. An instant later, everything that was exploding outward began to implode inward. The sound now was a great _swoosh_ as if the air and everything else were being inhaled backward into a small tin. Holding tightly to Harry with one hand and Patrick with the other, his eyes squeezed down to thin slits and the wind buffeting his face, Draco tried to yell something, but Harry couldn't hear him. The flames, the heat the black loamy earth, Patrick, Draco and Harry were all drawn down to a singular point in space and time until… in the end…there was nothing.


	52. Love Found

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 5****2 – Love Found**

**~~~***~~~**

The ground rumbled. The sound of wandfire and screams of pain bounced around the trees surrounding the lake like ping pong balls trapped in a turning bingo cage. The ground rumbled again. Ron Weasley opened his eyes and discovered he was face down in the dirt, starring at a rather large spider. Without flinching he reached over and smashed the creature between his thumb and forefinger. Okay, it wasn't that large… but it could have been. He rolled over and blinked to get the sand out of his eyes. When he rose to one knee a stunner shot past his head, shattering a large stone behind him. To his side, he heard weeping; it was Hermione. Time had restarted.

The wandfire spread out all along the tree line; the battle was still raging. Across the lake, someone was tending to Professor Snape and others that had fallen. At least the rocks near Ron's position provided their small section of shoreline a modicum of protection. He scanned about and found that Cho was also crying, her brother James held tightly at her side. He couldn't see Jamie. Ron reached for his wand, but it was missing. It took him a moment, but he found it a few feet ahead of him in the sand. He crawled over and picked it up, and then continued to crawl along the ground toward Hermione whose back was to him. She was still near Tonks' body and was crying worse than ever. He placed his hand on her hip.

"Hey… It's okay, Herm—" She screamed.

"RON!"

In a flash she was upon him, squeezing for dear life. In a matter of seconds, Cho was holding him and then James. He felt sort of like a kitten in a pre-school, unsure what the fuss was about. Tears and hugs diminished and at last Hermione grabbed him by the front of the robes. She was… upset.

"You couldn't have Apparated, could you?" she asked, confused. "Where have you been?" He wasn't sure if she was more upset that he'd been missing, or that she didn't understand why. "We thought… we thought you were…" She shook her head and turned away. He placed his fingertips on her chin and pulled her back so that she could look into his eyes.

"I've been right… right here," he pointed to where he had fallen after trying to bring down the robes. _The robes!_ He raised his wand higher and scanned for some shimmer of white. There was nothing except the burning orb still hovering above the lake.

"See! I told you!" complained James to his sister. "Ron, she wouldn't—"

"James appeared only a few minutes ago," said Cho. "He gave us some demented story that we were all statues and that you were together… you, him, Gab and… and Jamie?"

Her questioning tone made Ron look around for the child. It was then he noticed that the boy was missing.

"He's gone? And Gab?" Ron muttered suddenly spinning around, searching for her as his thoughts became clearer. "Where's Gabriella?"

"You were both across the lake," said Hermione. When the dragon attacked there was an explosion of cold fire and then you disappeared, all of you including Gabriella, Harry, Draco, Professor Barghouti, James and little Jamie. You all just vanished and that… that thing appeared." She pointed at the flaming sphere.

"Ron… does he have my child?" asked Cho nervously. "Does Voldemort have Jamie?" Her eyes, already red, began to glisten once more.

"It was the robes!" said James.

"Stop that nonsense," snapped his sister.

"She was right there," said Ron, pointing to where Gabriella had stood when he leapt at the white robes. "And you… you had Jamie in your arms. And the robes… the robes attacked James first."

"_Seeee!"_ James sneered.

"She was right here with me! Gabriella!" Ron cried out. "Gabriella!"

Hearing the name, a large wizard in brilliant, red robes strode over to Ron and spun him by the shoulders. "You've seen her? Where has she gone?"

"Who… who are—"

"Where's my sister?" he demanded, his azure blue eyes filled with fear and anger.

"This is Antreas, Ron," said Hermione, trying to make a quick introduction. "Remember from last year? Gabriella's brother. He arrived about an hour ago, searching for her."

"An hour?" said Ron in disbelief. "It's only been—"

"Where is Gabriella!"

Ron looked back at Antreas. He was not the same broken young man he'd met in the Ministry last year. He was nearly as large as Ron but his chest was broader and his demeanour more regal. His robes were scorched and smeared with grime and blood. There were scratches upon his face, some deep, and a small piece of his left ear was missing. He needed a healer, but was clearly focussed on his sister.

"She was with me…" Ron looked about as if he were searching for the keys to his dad's flying Ford Anglia. The only place he didn't check were the pockets of his robes and the last place he'd dare consider was below the surface of the water. "She couldn't be far. _An hour?_ Antreas, how'd you get here anyway?"

"Drahmir bore me," he said with the majesty of a young prince. Ron's eyes furled.

"I don't know any Dr—"

"His dragon," explained Hermione.

"Drahmir is not _my_ dragon! The dragons belong to no wizard!" he snapped. He still had not let go of Ron's robes and Ron, though the larger of the two, felt his feet leaving the earth as Antreas lifted him bodily from the ground. "Now, Ron, tell me where my sister is!"

"We… we were fighting…"

"Fighting!"

"Fighting Voldemort."

"The Phantom!" Antreas exclaimed, his blood pressure elevating even as he lowered Ron to the ground. "Tell me all you know!" The two crouched to get out of the line of fire. The others followed in kind and waited in eager anticipation for what he had to say. Ron touched Hermione's face.

"You were frozen in time and the… the white robes. They were reaching for you," he said. Hermione looked back to the lake to the spot where the robes had been floating. They were gone. Ron took her by the arm and examined her up and down to see if she'd been harmed. "He attacked James and then you and I… I couldn't let him, so I punched him in the head. Knocked 'em back pretty good."

"You punched the robes? In the head?" asked Hermione, trying to understand. "Ron, that doesn't—"

"Well, it's not like they were just robes, were they? And then… I don't remember. I was here."

"But I'm not injured."

"Well… he had his wand out and—"

"My sister… where's Gabriella?"

"She was—"

"Mama!"

Cho suddenly lost her breath.

"Mama!"

At the water's edge was little Jamie. He was smiling and stepping unsteadily toward her. She ran and quickly swept him into her arms.

"That's three," whispered Hermione and, looking toward Antreas, her eyes held out hope that more would magically appear. "Gabriella will come too. You'll see. I think time is returning to each one in the order they were touched by the white robes." There was another blast of red and she watched it arch over their heads.

"The battle's moving north," said Ron. "We must be winning."

"No," said Antreas. "The Phantom is playing games. This thing…" He pointed at the burning sphere. "If it captured the great Singehorn, it is some sort of evil trickery! See how it pulls in the spectres that come near it!" Ghosts continued to swirl about the orb and disappear. In fact, the forest was thinning of its spectres. "Even as our defences are being pulled north this… this evil remains. We should destroy it!" He pulled his wand.

"NO!"

A flash of green robes had Antreas about the arm. It was Blaise Zabini. He'd been standing by the lake, looking up at the orb and, every so often calling Draco's name. Antreas was about to level his wand and Blaise, when Ron stepped between them.

"There's enough to be getting on about without the few of us fighting amongst ourselves. If Blaise says no, then there's a reason and you'd better listen to what it is." Antreas clenched his jaw, nodded, and slipped his wand away. He offered Blaise a hand and Blaise took it.

"You mustn't destroy it," said Blaise. "It's a door, a gateway and they're in there. I know it. Maybe your sister too. Don't… don't close it before they've had a chance to get out, to come home." He walked back over to the shoreline and called Draco's name.

"He's a bit touched," said Hermione. "When the dragon swallowed Draco and Dakhil in a fury of flame and they vaporized, he… sort of lost it."

"No. He's right," said Ron. "That's what Gabriella thought too… that a gate had been opened allowing ghosts to finally pass to the other plane."

"Gates open both ways," said Antreas, pulling his wand and twirling it in his fingers as he eyed the orb.

"That's what I said."

"Were _you_ in this gateway? Was my sister?"

Ron shook his head just as the ground began to quake. A group of Centaurs galloped out of the forest on the far edge of the lake, warning everyone to step back from the falls and to stay away from the water.

Bubbles began to churn on the lake's surface, frothing it white. Cho was the first to notice.

"There!" she cried out. "The water – something's happening!"

A head covered in long black hair appeared rising just above the foam. It was Gabriella. She gasped desperately for air and swam toward the water's edge. Antreas pulled off his boots to dive in after her, but Ron held his arm.

"Didn't you hear the Centaurs? The waters, they're like acid. If they don't like you, they could kill you."

"That's my sister!" Antreas yelled, marching toward the water's edge. He was about to jump in, when Gabriella yelled at him to stay put, water gurgling in her throat.

"Let her come to us," said Ron, wondering if Gabriella could make it and considering if he should jump in after her. He had, after all, survived his last encounter. She wasn't that far from the shore, but the current was swift and she already looked like a drowned rat. If the current caught her, it would only take a few seconds to go over the edge, crashing to the rocks below.

She continued to swim against the current and, slowly, made her way to the lake's sandy shore. Finally, she crawled out of the water and collapsed. She was naked, but completely dry and Antreas quickly summoned a dark blue cloak with which to give her cover.

"Gabriella," he whispered. "What's happened to you?"

She was shaking, but when she lifted her head, she smiled. Her teeth chattering, she said, "I've been c-cleansed." She hugged her brother. The darkness of murder and death had been lifted and her face glowed.

"Cleansed? Cleansed of what?" Gabriella's smile dimmed.

"Where's Harry?" she asked. A group had gathered about her. Behind them she could still hear the sound of wandfire. The battle had shifted and was now moving nearer. She turned and found Ron, grasped his robes and pulled him close. "You're okay," she said with half a question in her voice. "He said… but I wasn't sure… I c-couldn't see. Where's Harry?"

"Why am I the one that's supposed to know where everybody is?" Ron asked. "I'm not a blinking owl you know. You know as well as I do that he was on the beach when—"

"DRACO!"

It was Blaise. He was yelling again at the burning orb that still hung suspended above the waters of the lake. His voice was more panicked than ever.

"Something's wrong. The gate… the gate. It's closing. DRACO!"

"The orb," whispered Gabriella. "It's still there. How is that possible?" She ran to her fellow Slytherin's side. "Blaise, tell me, what do you see?"

"They're in there!" he pointed at the burning sphere. "But there's fire… fire everywhere!"

They all looked toward the orb. The flames surrounding it were growing more intense as one last white wisp of ghost entered it. Gabriella, unable to move her eyes from the brightening orb, said, "How can you be so—"

"I just know, alright?" he yelled. "Feel, Gabriella! Just feel!"

It was then that she too began to sense Harry's presence and the more she reached out, the more she was certain that he was—"

The sphere of fire suddenly imploded, sending out a flash of light and a shockwave so powerful it knocked everyone near the lake to the ground. The Centaurs were thrown back into the trees. When Gabriella looked up, it had vanished.

"He's gone," breathed Blaise suddenly unable to take in enough air. "It… it can't be."

"It isn't," said Gabriella with confidence. The firestones set on her ring were glowing as brightly as they ever had. "Harry," she whispered to herself, "where are you?"

"But the gate, it's gone. I can't sense him, Gabriella," said Blaise holding on to her sleeve. His voice was pitched and his eyes fearful. "Even when he was below Fengsle Isle I knew he was alive. Now I can't—" Blaise suddenly stopped and his gaze shot out over the lake. "Did you see that? Out there?" He pointed over the empty waters. Rings were spreading in ever larger circles as if a large stone had fallen into the lake at a singular point directly below where the orb had hovered only moments before.

"Oh, no," Gabriella said softly. "_Yet those who ill chose found the fall, remain adrift, alone._ Draco, what have you done?" She slowly shook her head. If Draco had been torn, if they had not just returned, but fell instead into the waters, then they would be facing the same questions, the same challenges as she had just gone through. Harry had survived that fall before and her ring was telling her that he'd survived again, but Draco… Draco was an entirely different story. The darkness inside him was deep and if Blaise was no longer sensing his presence—

"I'm going in after them." Blaise tore off his shirt and started for the waters, but Gabriella grabbed his arm. "You can't. The lake… it might kill you."

"It didn't kill you!" Blaise snapped back.

"Yes it did," she replied. "Part of me anyway. And the Death Eaters pulled in by Jamie's command have been utterly destroyed. Blaise, believe me; I know you well enough to say that you _might_ survive, but I'm not certain. If you dive in, you may never come back. All that is you will simply dissolve away and flow over the falls and out to the sea."

Blaise sat down on the rocks and began to weigh his chances.

"It is over," said one of the Centaurs across the water. Gabriella saw Macleta, a rare smile upon her face. "The dark menace has been defeated!" she cried out

All fell silent. Only the sound of crickets and chattering clabberts filled the air. The wandfire had stopped. In the night sky, Ebyrth had disappeared and in its place was a swirling glow of magical flame that resembled an enormous, swirling galaxy, blazing as brightly as any aurora.

Centaurs readying their arrows to strike their sworn enemies stayed their hands as the Dementors in kind drew back their attackers. With the comet gone, their reason to battle had gone with it. The dark creatures slipped away into the forest heading toward the mountains.

Death Eaters, cursed to follow the will of the dark lord had been set free. The dark marks set upon their arms had vanished. Some ran, some dropped their wands, others simply stood frozen unsure what to do given their own free will. An enormous cheer erupted around the lake. Word quickly spread down to the wizards and witches below the falls their shouts of joy were deafening.

Some of the Aurors and wizards from Hogwarts began to give chase to those trying to escape, but Sirius stopped them. It was time to tend to the injured and he sent word for any healers to join them. Make shift tents were suddenly popping up all over the lake. Some were for the injured, others for the dead. Sirius stepped over to them and carried Tonks away in his arms. A few hours passed and he returned.

"Any sign?" he asked as Gabriella, Blaise and the others sat, keeping watch over the waters.

"No, sir," said Gabriella. Sirius looked out across the waters and nodded his head. He waved his hand and a set of green Slytherin robes appeared in midair; they floated over to Gabriella.

"These should fit a bit better than that cloak of yours," he said softly. "Cho, you and the baby should be tended to." Cho nodded. "In fact, you should all—"

"I'm not going anywhere!" snapped Blaise. "Not until… not until…" He began to shake and Gabriella took his hand.

"We'll just wait here, professor," she said, rubbing the ring on her finger and trying to conceive what might be happening. Sirius nodded and walked away to help the others.

"He'll come out," said Blaise. "You'll see Gabriella. Just like you! Any minute now."

Minutes turned to hours and hours to days. The tents about the waters disappeared and the wizards in the forest began to make their way back home. Blaise and Gabriella refused to leave the water's edge. Hermione, Ron and Antreas tended to them as best they could. Eventually, only one tent was standing. Cho, Jamie and occasionally the others would use it, or the stronghold in the rocks to sleep and prepare meals. On the third day, Sirius suggested, once again, that it was time to leave. Gabriella, sitting on the large stones near the water's edge, was asleep, her head tilted over against her brother's shoulder. Blaise, his eyes blinking with exhaustion, continued to look out over the stillness.

"We'll stay a while longer, sir," said Antreas. "As long as the stones burn bright, I suspect we'll stay." He held up his sleeping sister's hand, showing off her wedding band. "Mama was a bit upset when we did not have a proper ceremony."

"Ceremony?" asked Hermione.

"A connubial ring sits upon Harry's hand," said Antreas. "Extraordinarily rare. Leave it to my sister to land the wizard that could conjure that. They wanted it secret," said Antreas. "I'm not sure why."

Hermione looked at Gabriella as she slept, knowing the love it would have taken to create such a bond and wondering how she could have been so blind as not to have seen it. Perhaps Gabriella had enchanted them somehow. She smiled knowing that her two friends cared so much about her and Ron that they wanted them to have their own moment first. Since Dumbledore's death, it didn't appear that that would ever happen. Tonight, Ron and Hermione had found each other once again and when the bushy haired brunette looked at her fiancé, her eyes began to tear. He took her hand and held her in his arms, giving her a hug. They began to walk, arm in arm, about the lake, talking. As they moved away, you could hear their gentle laughter just above the roar of the falls. They had, at last, wholly reconnected.

Sirius sat down next to Blaise and put his arm around him. Gabriella roused and sat upright, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

"Mr. Zabini," he said softly, "I would love to give you a lifetime to wait here by the waters. I can't."

"But—"

"I can give you a day more, but then you'll all have to return. The forest is reverting to its natural state and there is a reason it's forbidden. I've set enchantments about the waters as best I can, and they will hold against the most vicious of beasts. But there are no such enchantments for anxious parents. I've already received five owls from the Minister himself. Fortunately, he too is a bit busy. The Ministry did not fare well – treachery from within."

"When Harry disappeared," said Gabriella, "he was gone for three days. That's not how it happened to me today; it's not how it happened to Ron, but maybe…" She shrugged.

"I hope you're right, Mrs. Potter. For now, I have some other anxious parents to meet."

Gabriella's eyes widened as she slipped her hand behind her back. Sirius stood and began to dust the bottoms of his robes with his hands, then stopped. Looking down, he laughed.

"I never used to care about how my robes looked before." His eyes looked to the stars and twinkled. "Damn you, Albus!"

He waived his hand and vanished.

An hour passed and they were all sitting about a small fire that Antreas had conjured. Cho had to keep scolding Jamie for throwing rocks in the lake.

"They'll get mad at you," she warned, shaking her finger.

"_Pio!"_ answered Jamie, pointing to the dark depths. "_Pio!" _Cho groaned.

"Then come with me," she said with a sigh. "We'll go potty up here." She began to walk him away just as Hermione and Ron returned. They were smiling and holding each other tight. Jamie pulled his hand away from his mother's and ran back to the water.

"What did he say?" muttered Gabriella.

"He needs to go potty," said Cho, waving her hand dismissively. Gabriella shook her head.

"No… he said something... a word. What was it?

"Peee? Peeeo?"

"Pio? Are you sure?"

"It would make sense," said Antreas a tinge of excitement in his voice. "Yes… if he said _Pio!_"

"It is an ancient rite of purification."

"But how would the child know?" asked Antreas.

"_Pio?"_ Cho laughed and shook her head. "That's just—"

"He won't survive," said Blaise taking to his feet. "If they're doing to him what they did to you, Gabriella, he doesn't have a chance. Three days… four days…" He shook his head. "You heard Sirius. We're running out of time. I won't leave him down there to die." He again made to jump into the water.

"Blaise, please," Gabriella pleaded. "The waters… what you've done with the Death Eaters this last year… I know where your heart is, but they're not the forgiving type. They could vaporize you."

"You don't get it, do you, Gabriella? If Draco's gone, truly gone, it doesn't matter. I don't care. For five years I thought he was nothing but a prig, but then I began to see, began to understand. It's not just black and white." He chuckled as thoughts of Draco brought the first smile his face had seen in days. "He's been risking his life for something greater, something bigger than himself. Now it's time for me to do the same."

He moved to jump into the waters when a large ball of pale flesh breached the lake's surface. It shot upward as if coming from a canon and screamed toward them. Actually, it was more like hysterical yelling mixed with laughter. Draco Malfoy had been spit out from the lake and landed unceremoniously in his birthday suit with a thud just behind where Blaise and Gabriella stood. The sand cushioned the blow, but the air was knocked from his lungs. Blaise was at his side in an instant.

"Draco!" he called, pushing the hair from his face. "Draco, are you okay?"

"Blaise?" Draco coughed water and spit sand. "Blaise, you stupid… you could have … you could've died … don't ever go near those damn waters. So help me, if—"

"Merlin's beard! Can you stop spouting orders for five minutes? Just… just shut the fuck up!" Blaise placed his hand over Draco's mouth and looked him in the eyes, narrowing his own. "I knew you'd come back, I knew you would." He smiled and held him close.

Gabriella summoned black robes and handed them to Blaise and he in turn slipped them over Draco's shoulders.

"Draco, where's Harry?" she asked nervously. "Was he with you?" Draco looked up at Gabriella, Blaise still at his side. He was tired and looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, but his eyes held a joy that she had never seen there before. He smiled silently. Looking at Blaise and then back to Gabriella, he let out a soft chuckle.

"Was he with me? He's been with me for days, Gabriella. Down there." His head nodded toward the waters. "They threatened him. They cursed him, but he wouldn't leave. I thought turning to a vampire was painful, being eaten alive by rats, having your flesh flogged by Voldemort's wand… but those waters…" He swallowed as the smile wavered on his face. "Harry helped me through it, helped convince them, but they still weren't going to let me go until…" He looked at Blaise and put his pale white hand against his dark cheek. "It was you, Blaise. You were going to sacrifice yourself… for me." Tears began to form at the corner of his eyes and he shoved Blaise backward. "Barking mad, son of a bitch." Blaise just smiled.

"Then where is he?" asked Gabriella. "If they let you go, where's Harry?"

"He's fine," said Draco, stepping close and taking her by the hand. "You'll see; it won't be much longer. He had to gather Patrick. Well, what Patrick was… or will be. The thing is—"

"Over there!" yelled Ron. "The water's boiling again."

They all looked to find steam starting to rise out of the water. It was churning like a cauldron, frothing white foam that travelled with the flowing water out over the falls. Gabriella's heart was pounding in her chest. Slowly, a shock of black hair emerged straight up out of the bubbling water. Harry was naked and in the crook of his left arm was an infant child, crying loudly as they approached. He raised his right hand and the waters in front of him began to boil and bubble as well. He began to step toward them across the surface of the lake. It wasn't until he was a few yards away that Gabriella realized he was calling the fish to the surface of the water that they might lift him and the tiny newborn out of the water. A few feet from the water's edge he let the fish go and sunk down so that he was less than knee deep at the lake's shore. He began to step forward when Gabriella rushed him and held him in her arms.

The crying stopped. She looked down at the child and realized that she had been mistaken. It wasn't an infant after all, but a toddler about the size of little Jamie, but with beautifully brown skin. It couldn't be Patrick. Flashes of her vision crossed her mind… the water, the robes, death, the crying child. She looked back up to Harry.

"You're brilliant, did I ever tell you?"

"Maybe once," he smiled and kissed her.

"Harry!" called Ron. "Get the bloody hell out of the water!"

Gabriella looked at Ron for only a moment and then back at the child. The boy in Harry's arms was no longer a toddler, but perhaps six years old and was now standing at their side. He had dark black hair and brilliant green eyes.

"Eyes like… _your_ mother's. Harry, who is this?"

As they stood in a few inches of water, she watched the boy's hair grow longer, his stature taller, and his eyes darker and keener. He was aging before them; each few seconds was another year.

"It's the water!" cried Hermione. "Get out of the water!"

"I said that already!" yelled Ron. "Did I not already say that?"

They all stepped out onto the sand and this time it was Hermione handing out robes, one for Harry and one for the young man about twelve years old at Harry's side.

"We made it, Pat," said Harry gently squeezing the boy's neck with a smile. "I told you we would."

Gabriella had heard Draco speak of Patrick, but this wasn't Patrick. He didn't look anything like him. If anything, the boy looked Armenian.

"What's your name?" she asked. The boy furled his eyebrows, as if trying to remember where he'd left his shoes. Finally, a look of satisfied recognition filled his eyes.

"Me name's Patrick… Patrick O'Riley," he answered with a perfectly Irish accent.

Harry, a broad smile across his face, slapped Pat on the back with a look of complete satisfaction. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wand, ten inches of solid oak, and handed it to the young man.

"We orphans…" he said looking to the heavens, "…we've got to stick together."

* * *

Author's Note: You're probably thinking to yourself, "Self, I'm almost done and I haven't left a review. I better write one soon, or I'll run out of chances." I've always thought that Self gives the best advice.


	53. Nobody's Perfect

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 53 – ****Nobody's Perfect**

**~~~***~~~**

Harry looked about at the astonished faces. Only Draco, whose arm was about Blaise's waist, understood what had happened. Then Harry noticed something else interesting. Hermione was holding tightly to Ron's arm. He looked at the others. Cho, James at her side, was cradling little Jamie and Antreas had his hands upon his sister's shoulders. Harry smiled. The energy of the love surrounding him was palpable and he could feel the stone drinking it in. He closed his eyes and observed their auras. There was joy everywhere. Even Patrick, whose energy showed three distinct colours, was radiant. Harry opened his eyes and stepped over to Gabriella taking her out of Antreas' arms and into his own. He wasn't sure why, but he began to cry.

James somehow knew that behind the different features of the boy before him was the same dear friend with whom he'd faced death. Patrick had been the first one to stand by him when he returned from Hogwarts and he would not return that great favour by questioning his appearance. He ran to Patrick and they embraced, both shedding more tears than they would later admit. Indeed, there were plenty of tears to be shared for plenty of reasons. The drips of joy that fell to the ground worked their way to the lake and the water, which had been a murky brown, briefly glistened gold.

It was awhile before Ron, wiping his own face, tapped Harry on the shoulder.

"Hey, mate, no need to be going on like that." He sniffed. "You beat him. You won!"

Harry pulled his face from Gabriella's shoulder and looked about the lake. The shoreline was empty and the waters were again dark. No trace of a battle remained, save for the scorched tops of the trees.

"They cleaned up pretty fast around here, didn't they? Wizards are good at that – hiding death so nobody can see. But the ground is soaked in blood and the blood has seeped into the waters and the waters never forget." Harry looked back at Gabriella.

"Did she make it? Tonks?" he asked, already knowing the answer in his heart. Gabriella shook her head. "And Sirius?"

"Sirius is fine," said Gabriella, stroking his hand with hers.

"Many died, Harry," added Hermione, "but many more were saved because of what you did. What you both did." She looked at Draco.

"I thought, for a moment, we had him there, eh, Ron?" said Draco, smiling at the redhead. "Of course Potter has to come and do something far more dramatic – dragons and magical stones and fiery explosions. It'll be the stuff of legend."

"He's good at that," said Ron with a grin.

"And the castle?" asked Harry still focussed on business.

"There is a lot of damage," said Antreas. "Drahmir and I fought our way through that battle on the way here, but the Hebridean Blacks arrived as promised. The blood that fell on that battlefield was vaporized before it ever hit the stones."

"Your ear," said Harry, noticing that part of Antreas' ear was missing. Antreas turned away. "Come here," said Harry waving his hand. "Let me see." He touched the ear and healed it. "Why didn't you do that?" he asked Gabriella with a tone that was sharper than he intended.

"We were a bit preoccupied," snapped Gabriella indignantly, "wondering if maybe you and Draco had been turned into two cabana boys to service Maia and Melusina."

"Don't even think it," groaned Draco.

"I wish I could have been here to help," said Harry quietly. "To heal."

"The injured may not be here, Harry," said Hermione, "but your touch would be welcomed at St. Mungo's."

"That's true," said Cho. "The hospitals across Britain are full. Many are being treated at Hogwarts and could use your… touch."

"Cho," Harry whispered, as if seeing her and his child for the first time. He briskly walked over and held them both. "Thank god you're safe. It's over… the nightmare. I swear. I'm so sorry that I—"

"We will never speak of it again," Cho interrupted. "Not in front of your child."

"No," argued Harry. "He needs to understand what evil… what hate can do. He can't grow up thinking I'm a hero, because I'm not. He'll be famous, you know, because his father destroyed Voldemort."

Draco cleared his throat and lifted one finger in the air.

"That's it exactly!" said Harry, pointing to Draco. He stepped over and put his arm around Draco's shoulder. "It wasn't Harry Potter that destroyed Voldemort. It was Harry and Draco…" He moved about the group. "…and Ron and Hermione… and Snape and Dumbledore… and Dobby and the Grawp… and Ronan and Macleta. It was all of us! It was Singehorn and Dakhil and Patrick. It was little Jamie, pulling Death Eaters into the Lake of Purity. And, in the end, it was the goodness of Tom Riddle. We all destroyed the darkness and gave birth to light." His arm was now wrapped about Patrick's shoulders.

"Harry," said Gabriella gently. "Who is this? You say his name is Patrick, but he's clearly not."

"Yes he is," said James defiantly. "You'd have to be blind not to see it."

"James is right," said Draco. "Dakhil and Tom sacrificed themselves that Patrick might live again. Their spirits are free, but he has a piece of each of them in his soul now. If you close one eye and think of cigar smoke and warm soup, you'll see a bit of Dakhil." Patrick smiled. Harry took Gabriella's hand that bore the ring of firestones and held it to his chest.

"Dakhil is dead," he whispered. Her knees went weak and he held her up in his arms. "But not completely. Like Draco said, he gave himself up that Patrick might return. This young man here is Patrick O'Riley. The spark of life was given him by Tom Riddle, the part of his soul that only knew purity, and his body is that of Dakhil Barghouti. I'm not sure if it comes with a set of fangs yet." He smiled gently. "Dakhil's left me a message for your mother; remind me when we see her." Gabriella nodded and Harry kissed her forehead.

"That's not possible," said Hermione. "You can't just give your body away."

"No?" asked Draco, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Let's find out." In an instant he transformed into his vampire shape, causing Cho to shriek. He leapt into the air toward Patrick, but before flapping his wings a single stroke, the boy transformed himself into a vampire, lean and muscular with fur identical to that of Dakhil's form. Before Draco landed, Patrick was in the air and had him by the neck. They hovered there for a moment, then settled back to earth and transformed back into their human shapes.

Everyone was stunned. James and Jamie were smiling, but Cho was trembling. Draco stepped toward her, realizing that he had frightened her. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Stay back!"

Draco stopped and nodded his head even as his shoulders slumped.

"He didn't mean anything by it!" said Blaise angry at Cho's reaction, though even he was shaken a bit.

"It's okay," said Draco, wondering how he could have enjoyed that same look when he considered killing her in Hogsmeade. What sort of monster was he? "I was being stupid. I… I should go."

He started to walk away from the group when Patrick grabbed him by the arm.

"Yeh can't go," he said. "We need yeh." Draco looked back wondering what Patrick was talking about.

"You don't need me," said Draco, slipping away.

"Harry?" asked Patrick, hoping Harry would understand. "We orphans… we have teh stick together, right?"

"I'm not an orphan!" snapped Draco.

"The gate…" Ron muttered under his breath.

"What?" asked Hermione.

"Someone's thinking about the entrance gate to Hogwarts."

"I am," said Harry. "Draco… don't you dare leave." He began to fiddle nervously with his wand. "Is it possible, Pat?"

"I was dead, Harry. I would know if they had died too. He's still under there. It's the last bit of cleanin' up left teh be done and we're the only ones, besides Neville, that know they're there."

"Theodore?" asked Hermione, her voice rising. "Theodore Nott's still alive? Neville was just being melodramatic. They couldn't have survived, buried under the earth. Those things were tearing them apart before they went under."

"The parasites are eatin' 'em from the inside out, but they're also keepin' 'em alive. If we leave 'em be, they'll suffer down there fer months, maybe a year. Then, when the body's consumed a tree grows and more seed pods wait fer new victims."

"I haven't read about—"

"It's dark magic, Hermione," Patrick interrupted. "Yeh wouldn't find that in any library you visit. All the trees have been destroyed; supposed teh be extinct. The Ministry's seen teh that. How Neville got his hands on the pods, I don't know."

"Then let's get them out," said Hermione. "Sirius can pull them up, or we can remove the dirt."

"He could. We could," said Patrick. "But the seedling parasites are extremely fragile. If they're exposed teh air, they'll die. And, if the parasite dies, the host dies."

"We could use water; we could—"

"It's been tried, Hermione. It's all been tried and it's all failed. That's why the trees have all been destroyed. Once you've been infected, you're as good as dead." Draco moved closer.

"You know this because Tom knows this," he said, not really questioning, but Patrick nodded anyway.

"It's like the Joinin', Draco. I carry 'em both with me," said Patrick. "I'd never seen a live dragon, 'till tonight." He exposed his forearm to reveal the mark of the dragon. It symbolized his membership with the Votary, but the mark was not the same as Dakhil's. The dragon was there, but at the base, where Harry had a Viswa Vajra, Patrick's symbol was a singular spiral with three arms, resembling a spinning galaxy.

"I know this rune," said Hermione, examining Patrick's arm. She pointed at the passages between the spirals with her finger. "Life, death, rebirth."

"That's me," said Patrick with a smile. Gabriella came over to have a closer look.

"Excuse me," said Draco, stepping in front of her. "I still don't understand. If they can't be saved, why do you need me?"

"We can't save 'em all. We can only save one and, if he comes to his senses he'll need teh listen teh someone he trusts. That'd be you, Draco."

"Why only one?" asked Antreas. "Who is it?"

"Nott," said Harry.

"Theodore?" asked Hermione, her face grim as she recalled the memory of nearly killing him last year.

"You helped nurse him back to health after you… well, you know, after Dumbledore placed him in Gryffindor," said Harry. "He said that it would knit a strong magical bond. I guess you two are linked somehow. Maybe you could pinpoint him under the ground, or you might be able to hold on to his spirit just long enough for me to heal him. Is that it, Patrick? Can we use their connection?"

"It'll be the only way teh keep his life force strong. We also have another magic teh work in Nott's favour – we made our pact at Hogwarts that orphans need to stick together; Nott became a member when his mum committed suicide last year. All of that, working in concert with Draco's help, might be enough teh hold 'im here while yeh use the stone."

For ten beats of a quickening heart, all was silent. No one spoke, as the water continued to roar over the falls.

"It's a stretch, I know," said Patrick. "But we made a pact, Harry."

"We have to try. How do we get there?" asked Hermione. "Through the forest, it's an hour at least. Harry, you can run. Draco, you can… fly, but you can't take us all."

"Our friends are near," said Antreas.

"More than you know, brother," said Harry. He closed his eyes and before they opened a white Centaur appeared, the same Centaur that had brought Ron and Hermione to the falls. "Hello Felspar."

"It is in an honour, Harry Potter" she replied with a low bow. "Word has already spread through the forest of your return."

"How is your home," Harry asked with concern.

"That you place it first upon your lips shows all you do indeed hold the heart of a Centaur." This time Harry bowed in deference to the compliment. "Already the vines return and the bulbs begin to flower. Terntalag will soon be whole again. Two great wizards have worked tirelessly these last few days helping in its restoration."

"That's good to know. And the Dementors?"

"That battle…" She looked to the sky towards Mars. Ebyrth was gone and the red planet could not be seen. It was blanketed with a multi-coloured glow that flickered and flamed as if that region of space were on fire. "It is over, Harry." She looked down on him and a thin smile crossed her face. "Over forever. Yesterday, Firenze laughed. It was the first sign of mirth Terntalag has seen in centuries and Magorian, overhearing, did not scold him."

"Your ways then," said Harry, "are changing for the better."

"_Our_ ways, Harry," she corrected. "_Our_ ways."

The sound of wings beating overhead signalled the return of dragons – Drahmir, Talisan and a Hebridean Black Harry didn't know. When they landed at the forest edge, little Jamie's eyes grew bright with excitement. He pointed, urging his mother to take him closer, but Cho was nervous.

"We're not actually…" she began.

"No. I've asked Felspar if she will carry the two of you and your brother to Hogwarts and she's agreed." The Centaur nodded.

"I will see you safely through the forest," she said gently. "Firenze will be joining us."

"I'm staying with Patrick," James protested.

"I'll meet yeh at the castle, James," said Patrick. "We won't be long, but it's somethin' we got teh do."

Reluctantly James nodded. He and Cho climbed on Felspar's back with help from Antreas and Harry handed her their son after kissing his cheek. As she took Jamie from his hands, they began to shake and he drew in a deep breath to gather himself. _Now was not the time._

"I would like to see Terntalag again," said Cho. "One last time before we go."

"Certainly," said Felspar. "But you will always be welcome. You are, after all, the mate of the Chosen." Cho looked at Harry to say something, but before she could Felspar took off and they disappeared in a blur. The others turned to look at the dragons.

"Bloody hell," Ron said with a groan. "I've already been torched once. I don't much care to repeat the experience."

They stepped toward the forest's edge, away from the falls. The ground rumbled and the earth shifted. The small damn that had been causing the river to pool behind the falls fell away and the water crashed over the rocks emptying the lake in a matter of seconds. Harry expected to see an enormous pit perhaps a hundred meters deep, but it appeared that the water had only been waste deep, no more than a single meter. When the water drained away it revealed a shallow grassy marsh. Those that had been under that water were shocked.

"Morgana's main, Potter!" exclaimed Draco. "Now you can move mountains?"

"It wasn't me! I swear!"

"You'd think you were frickin' Moses!"

"Moses had a bigger wand," Gabriella chimed in flatly.

"Hell, little Jamie's got a bigger wand than Harry," said Ron with a snicker.

"Draco," said Harry, trying to quickly change the subject, "it'll be faster if you fly yourself. You can carry me, I don't mind. Then we can go by twos – Ron and Hermione, Patrick and Gabriella, and Antreas and—"

"I'm going with Draco," said Blaise.

"But—"

"We have some catching up to do."

"I'll have to transform."

"Your breath can't be any worse than Antreas'. He's been eating garlic balls all night."

"Fare enough," said Harry as Antreas sniffed his breath off his hand. "Patrick is with Antreas. Sorry, Pat, but you are the second year after all." Harry went over and patted Ron on the back because he was looking a bit pale. "Don't worry, mate. It's a bit like riding a Hippogriff, only… bigger."

"Yeah… right."

By the time Ron and Hermione were situated on top of Talisan, Draco and Blaise were already well on their way. Patrick and Antreas were circling on Helfure, the Hebridean Black. Talisan rose first and then Drahmir lifted Harry and Gabriella into the air. He and Talisan were the only Norwegian's left in Britain. The others had returned with Tanwen to the Carpathians to prepare for the ceremony of Singehorn's passing.

They flew over Terntalag, but it was too dark to make out much more than the handful of torches that lit the main path of the village. It wasn't long before they came out from the forest and made their way over the pitch at Hogwarts. There were white tents set out all over the field below. They swept wide over the school and Harry noticed that half the Ravenclaw tower was missing and what was left was scorched black. Hogwarts was badly damaged, but the giants had done far more damage the year before. Evidently Sirius' enchantments had held.

They flew on toward Hogsmeade. There, Harry's heart sank. The town was completely levelled. Only the goblin branch of Gringotts bank still stood – the only building more than a story high. Fred and George's store was gone as were so many others. Worse, the homes skirting the main town had been decimated as well. That explained the tents on the pitch. There was nothing but flat, scorched earth as far as the eye could see. Grass and other vegetation had already begun to reclaim the town.

"We'd best swing wide," suggested Talisan to Harry. "Even though we brought the Fireballs out of the sky, the wizards below get a bit nervous when we fly too near."

"Our work is at the gate," said Harry. "Head there. It's late enough, no one should see."

The dragons landed and quickly departed leaving their riders behind. Draco and Blaise were already there. Tears were glistening off of Blaise's skin as he stood motionless, transfixed at the patch of dried earth below which his comrades were being tortured. Harry wasn't sure it was such a good idea for him to be there. When the battle had come to the gate, Blaise might have been able to help his friends, but it could have meant killing Neville, maybe even killing Harry. Now his friends, if they could be called that, were facing a hideous death and it was clear he was beginning to regret his decision. Draco had his arm about Blaise's shoulder as they walked around the spot where the group of Death Eaters had plunged into the ground.

"How did the seeds get water?" asked Patrick, surveying the scene.

"The lake," answered Harry. "The merpeople."

"Complex… insidious… Neville had teh work quite hard to unleash so much hatred."

"Pat," said Harry a bit nervous about where the conversation might head, "we have to get going. I don't feel much like drawing a crowd just now."

"No… you're right. Hermione, I need you to— Hermione?"

The bushy haired Gryffindor was frozen to a singular spot, staring down at the ground by her feet.

"I can hear him," she whispered. Her hands trembled as she reached out and held her palms flat as if she were warming them by a campfire. "It… it's awful."

"And the others?" asked Ron, putting his hands on her shoulders. She spread her hands wider and nearer the ground as if she were trying to feel some warmth rising from the surface and then she shook her head.

"Just Theodore," she whispered again. "So much pain." Her whole body began to tremble and Ron held her from behind.

"What do we do, Pat?" asked Harry.

"Hermione's already doin' it. See her hands? She don't know it, but she's bringin' him to the surface. She's re-established the link and it's drawin' him toward her. Draco… Harry… be ready."

A minute of silence passed and suddenly Nott, covered in mud with long slices all about his body, appeared in Hermione's arms. A white glow surrounded the two of them, knocking Ron backward on his arse. It was a like a clear, shimmering cocoon. Patrick moved in closer.

"Harry, when I remove the parasite, he'll die. You'll have teh heal him before he can cross over. Draco, talk teh him. Convince him that Harry's there teh help. Okay, boys, here we go." He pulled the oak wand from his robes.

"_Neco Vermis!"_

A green ray shot from Patrick's wand and burrowed through the silver shield enveloping Nott and Hermione. It slipped in one of Nott's wounds like a snake and he screamed in pain opening his eyes and mouth wide. Green light erupted from his mouth and eyes and each wound on his body sending out a shining green beacon in all directions. Harry touched his hand over his chest. "Bravery. Wisdom. Love," he whispered. A moment later he asked to heal Nott and found himself, oddly, in the middle of an endless grassy plane. It could only mean that Nott had already begun to cross over.

The grass was dried and yellow and less than knee high, but it spread out in all directions with nothing else in sight. Harry felt as if he was in the middle of a recently harvested Kansas wheat field and a House was about to fall from the sky at any minute. As it turned out, that's nearly what happened. From nowhere a small, rundown cottage appeared on the grassy plane. It was a faded green with chipped gold trim. The front of the cottage had a small porch and to either side of the front door were two plate glass windows that were dark. On the backside was a brick chimney from which a small bit of smoke rose to the sky. Standing in the doorway was a weedy-looking young man, wearing a pair of worn out denim overalls. He was barefoot, had no shirt and was chewing a long straw between his teeth. Nott stood there, looking blankly out over the grassy plane with one hand on the door knob. Harry stepped over to the front porch and was about to ascend the steps when Nott noticed him.

"You!" he sneered. "I thought I heard Granger. Get the fuck out of here, Potter." He turned to enter into the cottage. Green light began to stream out through the windows.

"Ted, wait!" said Harry. Nott stopped, now silhouetted in a brilliant green light. He turned back and faced Harry. When he did, Harry noticed dozens of gashes on his skin, each oozing blood. When he stepped out to the porch he left a trail of bloody footprints.

"You did this to me, you bastard! Why the fuck should I wait for you!"

"I can help you!"

"I don't need your goddamned help!"

"We want you to stay."

"Why? I'm… I'm not going back to him, and I won't let you send me to Azkaban. That life… there's nothing left. By Hades, look at this place!" He waved at the barren earth. "It's a wasteland. It always has been. I wanna farm where the soil's fertile."

No sooner had he said the words than a collection of green plants began to spring up near Harry and spread out around the cottage. In the distance, mountains rose, breaking the flat horizon and nearer still, trees began to spring from the ground fully grown.

"_Hermione," _Harry whispered to himself, and then he turned to Nott. "See, that's changing," he said. "The war's over Ted. Voldemort's been destroyed. He can't hurt you again and we won't send you to Azkaban. Professor Black wants you to come back to Hogwarts."

The surroundings. were growing more green and inviting by the minute. Flowers were beginning to blossom and in the nearby trees the sound of birds could be heard chirping. Nott stepped to the railing of the porch and held it with both hands. Blood dripped down his shoulders. The wounds were growing worse, opening up to reveal the flesh on the inside. For a moment, he considered his new surroundings, but then his eyes narrowed on Harry.

"Fuck you and fuck your dog of a headmaster!"

A hummingbird zipped from nowhere and hovered between the two of them, seemingly looking at Nott. Its breast shimmered red and gold and briefly his expression softened, but then he growled and pushed away from the railing.

"No! I'm not going back! I don't care what she says!"

"I always knew you were a chicken shit, Nott."

The two turned to find Draco standing on the right side of the porch, the sun was setting behind him and his bland hair reflected the fading light in such a way he seemed to glow.

"Malfoy?" asked Nott in disbelief.

"By Morgana's grave, you're daft!" said Draco, moving over to the front of the porch. Harry stood his ground as Draco passed in front of him always looking at Nott. "Look at you! Your flesh is falling away from your bones! You've got maybe two minutes to get this figured out, or you'll be hamburger in the afterlife."

"How'd you—?"

"I kicked his arse, that's how! The bastard's dead. He nearly killed me first, but I came back. Then, I don't fucking no why now, I asked Potter here to come save your sorry arse and you have the balls to tell him, 'No?' I always knew you were an idiot, but this… this is something more, and I don't think it has anything to do with bravado, do you? It's not that, is it, Nott? You're a chicken shit, aren't you? You're fucking afraid of Potter!" Draco made his way up the porch steps.

"I'm not afraid of anyone!" yelled Nott, blood spraying from his lips.

"Then let him heal you, you wuss. Face him like a man."

Nott looked at Harry, but hesitated. He looked back at the door through which the glowing light still gleamed. The hummingbird reappeared and landed on Harry's shoulder. It let out a high, shrill chirp then flew over to Nott, landed on his shoulder and chirped again. Whatever anger Nott had within him vanished and with it his strength to stand. He crumpled to his knees in a pool of his own blood.

"Hurry, Harry," Draco breathed, one hand upon Nott's shoulder.

Harry ran up the steps and placed both hands on Nott's face.

"Ted, let me see your eyes." Nott looked up just as the sun set.

It was cold, very cold, but Nott's life force was clearly within Harry's grasp. It reminded him of the first time he'd ever healed anything – one of Mrs. Figg's cats. Instead of using his own energy, he let the energy of the stone that had just been charged with the love of his friends, flow out and fill the emptiness glowing before him. The light grew and grew and then flashed, throwing Harry backward. When he opened his eyes, he was back at the front gate to Hogwarts flat on his back. Finally, a face looked down at him smiling. Draco offered him his hand.

"You okay?" he asked, lifting Harry to his feet.

Harry nodded and turned to see Nott sitting on the ground next to Blaise. They were surrounded by the others.

"I have to admit, Harry, that's a hell of a trick."

"How did you… appear?"

"I guess… I guess because you wanted me there. It was kind of nice actually." Draco smiled again, but it soon dimmed and he took in a deep breath. "Now the bad part." He stepped over toward Nott and Blaise and sat next to them on the ground. Nott had been covered in mud, but Hermione cast a spell and removed every trace of grime. When the dirt vanished, it was clear to all that there wasn't a scratch on his body.

"Nott, has Patrick told you what happened?" Draco asked with a steeled voice.

"He didn't have to. I knew the minute those things entered me. It's like… like we were linked. I don't know what was worse, the pain, or knowing that it would last for months." He began to tremble and started to nervously look around. For a moment his eyes rested on Harry, but then they turned to Hermione.

"I guess… I guess I should thank you... you know… for saving my life and all."

"It wasn't really me," she said, kneeling down to look at him. "Harry and Draco… they did all the—"

"If that was true, Granger, why aren't the others here? They're still down there, aren't they? I'm not stupid, Hermione. It was you that took my hand and pulled me from death. It was you that convinced me to fight to live long enough for Harry to heal me. The dude's just got a stone. You… You've got the heart." He took her hand in his and smiled softly. "Thank you."

"Yeah… well," said Ron, helping Hermione to her feet. "She does what she can; don't you love?" He kissed her cheek.

Draco helped Nott stand, though physically he didn't need the assistance. Nonetheless, his body still trembled and his eyes didn't leave the ground beneath his feet.

"Pansy's still down there," he whispered. Everyone but Blaise gasped.

"Pansy? Pansy Parkinson?"

"What the hell do you think?" snapped Nott. "Don't look at me like that! It isn't like we had much of a choice in the matter, did we?"

"I don't know," said Harry coolly. "It looked like you and your chums were having a good ole time just before you tried to kill me. You had a choice then, Ted, and you chose murder."

"Look, Potter… I—"

"You still have your wand, Ted. The energy has returned. If you wanted, you could have a go now. What are the words again? _Avada Ked—_"

"Harry, stop it!" yelled Hermione, but Harry simply moved in closer.

"I won't stop anything! I won't listen to lies. Don't tell me we don't have choices… we do. Dakhil Barghouti left this plane tonight because he chose to give Patrick a chance to live again. Draco Malfoy survived the waters of Melusina because he defied the darkness of Voldemort and had friends like Blaise willing to sacrifice themselves for him. My son is alive right now, because Tonks offered her life to save his. Nobody made them do these things. They chose to do what was right, what was noble.

"Pansy Parkinson isn't buried under the ground being eaten alive by some hideous parasite by accident. She's there because of choices. Neville chose to let hate take control. Ted, he cursed you with those damnable things, not out of some sense of justice, but because he simply hated you and wanted revenge for the evil you'd brought to Hogwarts. It was your choice to allow that evil to control you. It was Pansy's choice to follow you. All choices and not one of them were virtuous or noble. Now she, and all your Death Eater _friends_, if that's what you think they were, are little more than maggot meat."

"Harry!"

"It's true! You may not hear the reapers circling us right now, but I do! And I'm so sick of hearing them I want to puke."

While Harry was going on, Nott had reached for his wand. His whole body was trembling. Harry was so close he could feel his breath. Nott's eyes were fixed on the earth, but his anger was now centring on Harry. He could have killed him; it would be easy. He was so close and there was no counter spell. His hand tightened about his wand in a fist and he brought it up in a tremendous uppercut, right at Harry's jaw. Before it struck, however, Antreas cast a shield charm that knocked both Harry and Nott backwards. Undaunted, Nott rushed Harry, but the others grabbed him.

"She loved me, you bastard!" he yelled out. "I told her to leave, to go back home and stay with her mom, but she wouldn't listen. When they started to burn Hogwarts and Voldemort slipped north, I told her it was her chance to get away. SHE WOULDN'T LEAVE!" He fell to his knees and placed his hands on the dirt. "I told her mom I'd take care of her, protect her. Now what am I going to do?" He pounded at the dirt and began to cry. Then suddenly he stopped, wiped his face with his sleeve and pointed the wand at the ground.

"I won't let her die like that."

"Wait!" called Patrick. "Yeh say she loved yeh. Did yeh love her too?"

"Of course I did," said Nott, pulling in a wavering breath. "And when she dies, she'll die in my arms, not some maggot's." He pointed his wand at the ground again.

"Ted, stop," said Harry.

"What now, Potter? Want to get a closer look?"

"I want to try and save Pansy. I want you to prove me wrong. If you love her like you say you do, maybe there's a chance."

"Let's do it!"

"Ted, it's not that simple. We'll have to bring them up, or vanish the soil all at once. When that happens, they'll die. They'll all die. In that moment, I need you to reach out with your heart to her and follow me to the brink of death. We'll have maybe an instant to hold her here long enough for me to heal her. If she crosses over, it'll be too late."

Nott looked a bit nervous. Perspiration was beginning to build about his temples.

"Okay… yeah… erm, we can do that."

"There's more. If we're too late and she crosses over, she may try to take us with her. It'll make perfect sense when we're there. Don't do it. Don't cross any doorways. Think of Hogwarts and you'll return to your body here. Is that clear?"

Nott nodded his head nervously. "Sure. Yeah… sure."

Hermione held his arm. "Just focus on your love for her Theodore," she said kindly. "That's all you have to do. Her love for you will hold her here… you'll see."

Blaise stepped over to Harry. "What about the others?" he asked. There are half a dozen men down there with Pansy. Can't we do something for them too?"

"We can't take one without pullin' up all the others," said Patrick. "Only Hermione's link with Nott allowed her teh find him among the rest. Harry can't save 'em all. Merlin, savin' Parkinson will be near impossible." Patrick stepped over to Nott and looked up at him. "They're your friends, Nott. What's your decision?"

Nott looked about, hoping to get some guidance from someone else. But everyone else was silent, waiting for his choice. He never liked groups; there was something confining about them. That's why he never really hung out with Draco and the others. He hated working for Voldemort. Everyone looked to him to make some sort of decision that held the lives of others in the balance. He wasn't very good at it mostly because he just didn't give a damn about the consequences. He just wanted Voldemort dead.

Now, his singular wish had been granted – Voldemort would never torture his mind again. He'd been saved by a bitter enemy from a vicious death. Yet again he was surrounded by others waiting for him to speak, to make a choice. His throat tightened just thinking about it. Lives would be lost either way. Better to die sooner than to scream in terror until there was nothing left.

"Bring them up," he said at last. "Bring them all up. Whoever sees Pansy first, call out and I'll go to her."

The group formed a large circle and held their wands out. Hermione suggested the spell, something akin to summoning the nearest Death Eater. "It might bring them out one at a time," she offered.

"Either way, I'll do my best," said Harry in return.

"Okay then," she said. "On three."

When they reached three, the soil within the circle began to churn like a whirlwind. Bodies in black cloaks began to rise out of the blood stained dirt. The screams of the victims mixed with the high pitched screams of the parasites then all went silent. The whirlwind ceased and on the surface of the still earth were seven prone bodies, each lifeless in a pool of blood which oozed from the parasitic gashes of their flesh.

Gabriella tried to heal the one nearest her. Hermione did the same.

"There!" yelled Blaise. In the middle of them all laid Pansy Parkinson. Her Death Eater mask was gone and her eyes were open and blank.

"Take her hand Ted!" yelled Harry and then he spoke the incantation, "Bravery, Wisdom, Love." The Heart of Asha led him to the first gateway. "Heal Pansy," he said. A swirl of colours surrounded him and he found himself in the middle of the same barren plane that he found, trying to heal Nott. The brown grass was knee deep and spread out forever in all directions. The only thing breaking the horizon was a small cottage painted green with gold trim.

"Pansy!" he yelled. Just like Nott, she was at the doorway about to go into the cottage when she heard him call. "Pansy, stop!"

"Potter?" she said with contempt. "So you're dead too! Finally! Well… I guess it wasn't all for naught. Come on then." She waved at him to join her. "There are cookies baking inside, my mother made them."

Suddenly, Harry could smell the wonderful aroma of fresh baked cookies. He put one foot on the porch steps, but then remembered that Nott was supposed to be with him, calling to her.

"Why don't you come down here with me?" Harry asked. "Ted's looking for you." Her eyes brightened and she turned in excitement.

"Teddy?" she asked eagerly. "He's come for me, really?" She stepped out to the banister and held it in her hands. As with Nott, blood dripped down her arms, coating the upper rail. She scanned the emptiness, but Nott was nowhere to be seen.

"What sort of trick is this, Potter?" she said, narrowing her eyes in distrust. Harry stepped to the porch and held out his hand.

"Pansy, just take my hand. I promise I'll take you to him."

The grass remained lifeless. There were no flowers; there were no hummingbirds. An uninviting landscape surrounded Harry and his offer was rejected.

"You're a liar. You always were… you and your little bitch Granger. I hope she's devastated now that you're dead."

"I'm not dead! I want to take you back, back to Hogwarts, back to T-Teddy."

"Lies… all lies." She scanned the horizon one last time. "If my Teddy was alive, he'd come for me. He'd make a river," she pointed with her hand toward the distance, "and take me to the sea." She turned and headed back toward the door. "I always loved the sea."

The sound of sea birds and the roar of the ocean could be heard just inside the cottage.

"Pansy, no!"

"Shame you won't join me for cookies. Mum bakes the best cookies."

She opened the door and went inside. When the door shut behind her the whole cottage burst into flames. The green paint bubbled and the gold paint blistered. An eruption of heat spread out, igniting the dry grass and flashing the world in blaze of light that blinded Harry. He held his hand to his face and the darkness returned. When he removed his sleeve, he was back with the others at the gate to Hogwarts, seated next to Pansy. He expected to see her, dead in Nott's arms, but Nott was standing away from the group. He was facing the lake, his trembling hands hidden in his pockets. Draco knelt down next to Harry and took Pansy's lifeless hand in his own.

"He always was a loner," Draco said dejectedly. He reached over and stroked the hair from Pansy's face. With a wave of his hand he vanished the stains and scars that marred her. "I'll miss you, love." He kissed her cheek, sighed and stood up, even as Harry sat with his head in his hands. "Come on; let's get these bodies back to the school. This place has seen enough death."

* * *

Author's Note: Wow... now would be a great time to review.


	54. The Chimes of Hogwarts

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 5****4 – The Chimes of Hogwarts**

**~~~***~~~**

"So, why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to."

"No you didn't."

"I wanted… I wanted you to have _your_ moment first."

"_My_ moment?"

"You don't think I notice? You don't think I care? For the last month it's been Potter, Potter, Potter. Damn, Ron, even Draco's gotten more credit than you. It isn't fair. It isn't right. You held control over Voldemort with your mind and let James and Gabriella escape. You dropped him to his knees without using your wand! Merlin, I saw blood dripping from your eyes before you took an arrow from a Centaur. He was going to kill me and you stopped him. I've told everyone I know and there's not one word about Ron Weasley in the Daily Prophet."

"That's not true. Hang on…" Ron held up a finger and then began to rummage under his bed and behind his trunk until he finally found and unfolded an issue of the Daily Prophet he had saved. On one side was a large picture of Harry receiving the Order of Merlin from the Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley. "Let's see… Dad's brilliance at the Ministry… Something about you and Muggles… Blah, blah. blah, _Harry's our hero_… A puff piece on Narcissa Malfoy for setting up the _Restore Hogsmeade Foundation_… I know Draco put her up to it. Let's see, I know it's in here somewhere." Ron flipped the paper. "Ah… here we go." He cleared his throat and began to read.

"Inside sources say that the Montrose Magpies have their eyes set on a new recruit from this year's graduating class from Hogwarts. While early reports thought that the new addition might be none other than the spectacular Seeker Harry Potter, this reporter has discovered that the player is not the actual Harry Potter, but does indeed come from the very Quidditch Cup winning team Harry Potter coached. Was there ever any doubt that Harry Potter would have such a tremendous impact on the Quidditch world?"

"See! That's me." Ron tapped the paper with his finger.

Sitting on his own bed, Harry balled up his sock and threw it at Ron. Holding the paper with one hand, Ron caught it with the other.

"This… is mine," said Ron. "You know," he said, giving it a brief sniff, "maybe it'll be famous one day." He tucked the sock into his storage chest along with the paper.

"Hey! I need that. It's the last clean one I have left that doesn't have holes."

"You should have known better. Now you'll have to go barefoot. I'm sure they'll write an article about it and by next week every wizard on Diagon Alley will be walking barefoot. You should metamorph your toes into some hideous colour just to see."

"Give me a break. It's enough that Dean needs to needle me every minute of the day. I was trying to be serious."

"Whatever. You're famous; I'm not. I don't care. The important thing is that I am going to be best man at your wedding, right?"

"_My_ wedding? What do you mean?"

"Look, if I have to go through this nightm— this nuptial bliss with Hermione, you have to go through it with Gabriella."

"But—"

"No! You said you wanted me to be first. That means YOU are second!" Ron stepped over to his desk. "Let me see, I think I have a book of china patterns up here somewhere for you to read." Dean, wearing black dress robes, poked his head into the boys' dorm.

"Are you two coming, or what?"

"Harry can't find any clean socks."

"Are you kidding me?" exclaimed Dean. "There are nearly five hundred people waiting in the Great Hall. Harry, you're a god. Just go barefoot! I'm sure they'll write about it being the latest fashion in the Prophet. Next week all of London will be barefoot!"

Ron just howled as Harry's face reddened.

Graduation had come and gone at Hogwarts, but nearly all the seventh years and many other students and professors had stayed behind to help in the rebuilding of Hogsmeade. While all of the graduates were receiving offers of employment, Ron had refused to open any of the many owls that had come to him. The offers had arrived from various departments within the Ministry, from Gringotts, and a number of other businesses along Diagon Alley.

"I'm not getting a job somewhere just because someone's doing a favour for someone from my family," he had said. "I can do this on my own." Hermione had told him he was just being stubborn.

"Just because your father's Minister doesn't mean people don't want you for who you are and what you can accomplish!"

"I'm not going to work for my dad and that's the end of it!" he had declared emphatically.

Finally, two days before graduation, an owl dropped a black scroll on his morning scrambled hash. The surface of the scroll reflected the light like polished ebony. His hands trembled when he slipped off the golden thread holding it together. It opened itself, levitated above his head, and began to play the Magpies theme song as it offered him a position on the team – second string Keeper. Everyone eating in the Great Hall erupted in cheers. He pressed his thumb in the lower right-hand corner and the parchment vanished in a flash of smoke, sealing the deal. That afternoon, his future now established, he set the date with Hermione and today, that day had come.

Ron wore scarlet red dress robes with gold trim. His best man and groomsmen wore dress black with a darker silk trim. Dean, who was one of those groomsmen, left Ron and Harry to tell the anxious crowd that the groom was coming.

"You know," said Harry after Dean left, "I saw Dean and Ginny down by the pier the other night holding hands."

"They're always holding hands… and more," said Ron, taking one last look at himself in the mirror. "Do you think the red's too much?"

"This time they were just talking." Ron turned.

"Talking? Talking talking?"

"Looked pretty serious," said Harry, replacing Ron's position by the mirror and straightening his tie. "Maybe it's all this talk about weddings." Ron thought about it for a moment and nodded his head.

"When the time comes, he wouldn't make a bad brother-in- law. Mom always liked him."

"She always liked Hermione too," said Harry knowingly. "She'd be real proud of you, Ron. What you've done. What you're about to do."

Ron nodded, looking down at his shoes. He wiped his eyes and looked back at Harry, who simply looked at Ron. Ron appeared a bit peaked. There was an interminable silence until Harry slapped his hands together.

"Well, ready?"

"Not yet. Do you have the rings?"

"Yes."

"And you've double checked the arrangements with Sirius?"

"Yes."

"Hermione doesn't know?"

"No."

"And the band—"

"Yes. No. And YES!" Harry turned Ron toward the door. Now let's go."

When they made their way out onto the circular staircase there was a small round of cheers and clapping. George, Fred, Draco and Hermione's cousin, Ralph, made up the rest of Ron's groomsmen and they were still standing by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron continued down the circular staircase listening to the sounds of laughter and snickering.

"Not again," hissed Draco. He tried to look serious but smiled at Fred and chortled.

"Just one more time!" Fred pleaded. "Come on, one more. Please." Draco rolled his eyes and then allowed his fangs to extend down near his chin.

"Wicked!" said Fred taking his finger and touching the point of one of Draco's extended canines. He accidently pricked his finger and a small drip of blood appeared on the tip which Draco quickly lapped up before Fred pulled his hand away. Fred, didn't seem to notice, or care. He sighed and slumped his shoulders. "You know, when I turn, being a werewolf and all, mine only get about—"

"Would you two just stop," said George indignantly. "You are not going to transform during the wedding! Can you imagine the hysteria?"

"_Shhhhhh!"_

"WHAT!" yelled Ron. George stepped toward Ron apologetically.

"Fred's been working with Draco and has now discovered how to transform himself into a werewolf on command," he said followed with a great sigh.

"Not all the way yet" said Fred a bit disappointed.

"You're getting close," offered Draco in encouragement.

"Well, if I really want to down the buffet at the reception in a hurry, I can—"

"You wouldn't dare!" yelled Ron, his face turning nearly as scarlet as his robes. "You will not… I'll… I'll kill you! I swear—"

They all began to break out laughing. Tears running down his face, Draco put his arm about Fred's shoulder and said, "I told you he'd buy it."

Fred reciprocated and said, "I always took you for a tight-ass prick, Malfoy, but that was pretty good!" They walked to the front door and pushed the portrait of the Fat Lady open. Draco muttered something as they went through and they both continued laughing down the corridor. Ron looked at George, hoping to get a straight answer.

"They're not really going to do it, right George?" Ron's brother laughed again.

"If they do, I'll bet you're name finally makes it into the Prophet. Come on Ralph; let's make sure they make it all the way to the Great Hall. I'm not sure leaving them unattended is such a great idea." Ralph looked almost more pale than Ron.

"Erm… they're not gonna bite or anything… are they?"

"I don't think Draco will, but Fred's always putting his mouth where it doesn't belong." He took Ralph by the shoulders and escorted him through the front door. "Just keep your hands in your pockets." He stopped and winked back at his little brother.

"One last look at freedom, Ronnykins, and then it's off to your doom! Let's be quick about it. The Muggles are getting restless."

"Muggles?" asked Ralph.

"Muggles are…" began George and they disappeared down the corridor.

Instead of following after them, Ron stepped back, away from the entrance. He started breathing heavily and then buckled over, placing his hands on his knees. Harry offered his support and stepped him over to the couch by the fireplace.

"Ron? Come on, what's wrong?" Ron just stared at the fireplace and then began to speak.

"I can't stand this room, not anymore." He drew in another breath. "It was in here, you know… when he took over me."

"I know," said Harry, worried that this was about the worst time to bring up what would certainly be Ron's worst memory, a memory he would carry with him for the rest of his life. Harry's own thoughts turned to Molly Weasley and James at the Ministry. Ron and Harry had both been Voldemort's victims and that pain would not ever go away.

"It was within my reach. I should have known before you and Gabriella left the Marauder's Eye. All I needed to do was to reach out and see."

"We've been over this," said Harry gently. "It's not your fault."

"You said it upstairs. I had him on his knees. Why couldn't I—"

"Snape poisoned himself. He was weak."

"In McGonagall's office, I was able to keep him from killing her. I should have stopped him from… from..."

"You and Hermione squared everything at the lake… at the falls. She's forgiven you for that."

"Why? She shouldn't," snapped Ron, rising to his feet. "I'm about to be a father for something I could only… only watch happening. And I don't know… _we_ don't know if… if the baby will be—"

"A demon child?" Harry asked, smiling. "With red hair?"

"I'M SERIOUS!"

"You saw with your own eyes what Tom Riddle did. The white robes were everything that was pure and good about him. Patrick explained that he took away whatever stain was there. You're child will not be Voldemort! It may not have been conceived in love, but it'll be born in love. It'll be a bushy haired, red-head that'll do some sort of wizard study on the flight dynamics of Quidditch brooms. The kid will be insufferable and adorable all at the same time. But he'll hate his parents because they'll look at him, all his life, as if he's about to turn into Beelzebub. The only thing worse would be to grow up with only _one_ parent because your mom got pissed at your dad for being late to their wedding! Now let's go!"

Ron nodded, rubbed his eyes with both hands and let out a long breath. He started through the portrait of the Fat Lady and stopped, taking one last look at the Gryffindor Common room as a _free man_.

"This is it, Harry. It'll never be the same again."

"Ron, we've been here for seven years and after each year we say the same thing. You're right; it'll never be the same. Isn't it wonderful? Each new day brings a new adventure. The village of Terntalag is springing forth from the soil of the Forbidden Forest. Maybe, one day, it will be possible to have an actual conversation with a Centaur! The town of Hogsmeade will be built anew – a town for wizard and goblin, house elf and even the occasional giant. Can you imagine the realization of true brotherly love? The heavens about Mars still burn celestial fire, glowing even during the day. Sinistra is beside herself wondering what will happen next. Hogwarts has a new Headmaster, the only wizard to escape from Azkaban on his own. What will life here be under the guidance of a convicted murderer and without Dumbledore's lemon drops?

"In a few weeks I get to see Jamie without distraction or interruption. We'll play by the sea, we'll build a sandcastle on the beach and I'll teach him how to fly. I can't wait to get to know my son better, to watch him grow and to, one day, come to Hogwarts. Both our kids will be here, Ron. Jamie will be in Gryffindor of course. Your kid, sadly, will be in Slytherin because he'll have decided to take over the world by then." Smiling, he shoved Ron through the door and the two began to walk down the corridor.

"One sock?" a voice asked from behind? Harry turned to look at the Fat Lady as her portrait swung shut. "Not truly suited for the occasion, Harry. You are best man after all. I would have expected better."

"What, this?" Harry asked, raising the right side of his dress robes to reveal that he was wearing two shoes, but only one sock. "Oh, I think it's fitting, more suited for the occasion than you know, Wilhelmenia." He winked as the Fat Lady gasped, holding her hand over her mouth, and he and Ron continued on their way down the staircases to the Great Hall and the wedding below.

"I didn't know she had a name," said Ron as they waited for the staircases to move into position.

"She wasn't painted with one, but she let it slip to Sir Cadogan that she fancied Wilhemenia. She's been guarding the door of Gryffindor for fifty years. It seems only right she be given a proper name. Ginny'll see it sticks."

Before the last staircase slipped into position, the voices of the crowd below could be heard. Ron looked over the railing. There were a number of wizards dressed in their finest, glancing up to see if he was coming. Percy was there and he looked pissed, but he always looked that way.

"You do know that the Minister is a very busy person, don't you?" he called up at them.

"You're not talking about Dad, are you?" said Ron sarcastically. "Don't worry, Percy. Pretty soon it won't matter. Didn't you hear? Harry's taking over the Ministry. It was in the Prophet, so it must be true."

Percy growled. "Just hurry!"

"Just bugger off!"

Percy stomped away.

Enduring a myriad of slaps and offers of congratulations, Ron and Harry had to make their way through a crowd that was standing outside the Great Hall. At the entrance the groomsmen and bridesmaids were gathered together. Draco was adjusting Fred's tie. Dean and Ginny were quickly re-lacing the back of Lavender's dress. Hermione's cousin, Betty, huddled next to her brother Ralph. They were both staring at Luna, who was holding an oddly shaped instrument made of brass that hung from her nose. She kept tapping it with a clang, saying it would bring fortune to the couple getting married. Gabriella briskly walked out to meet Ron and Harry. She was smiling, but Harry knew by the look in her eyes that the fangs were hiding just below the surface, ready to erupt.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Ron, looking around.

"That's what we've been asking about you for the last half hour!" Gabriella hissed under her breath. "You, on the other hand, are not to see the bride until she walks down the aisle." Gabriella growled, or at least it sounded like it. "Do you know she actually believed you were going to leave her? Cho's back there right now, telling her everything will be fine!"

"We were having problems with his robes, that's all," said Harry smoothly. "You know I'm not good with stitching. Does Hermione know he's here now?"

"Yes, but you'll have to give me and Cho a minute to help her get ready. Her eyes have reddened a bit."

Gabriella huddled briefly with the girls and Harry gathered the groomsmen.

"It's set, right?" he asked. "I know it was a hell of a party last night, but I need to be sure your heads are clear on this one. If it's not perfect, it won't work. And if it doesn't work, we'll have ruined the wedding. Everyone knows what to say?"

"Merlin, Harry!" said Dean. "We know already."

"Then let's get started," said Harry with excitement. He raised his wand and a chime sounded. "Just like in rehearsal. Well, almost. Ron, it's time to head to the front with your father. We'll take care of business here and see you and the minister up front before you can say, 'I do.' The rings are right here." Harry tapped the breast pocket of his dress robes. There was a bit of perspiration beading on Ron's brow. "You'll do great!" said Harry, giving him a hug. "Now go on." Ron hesitated only a moment, nodded at Harry without saying a word, and made his way toward Arthur Weasley who was trying to be polite to everyone shaking his hand as he nervously glanced about for Ron.

"Merlin," said Draco, rolling his eyes. "Are you sure you two aren't the ones that should be getting married?"

"Shut up," whispered Harry. He watched as Mr. Weasley caught sight of his son. He froze, seeing Ron dressed in his scarlet robes, and his eyes began to glisten. They hugged and with his arm around his son, Mr. Weasley walked him to the front altar that had been set up where the professor's tables usually were. The moment had not been so emotional the night before, but they weren't all dressed to the nines and there weren't hundreds of people crowding about, and this time there was no turning back.

Suddenly, the entranceway began to fill with the sound of pops. A few people squealed as dozens of house elves began to appear; each was wearing a dreary smock representative of the type of work they did about the castle. Gabriella had tried to get them to wear something clean, but the effort was hopeless. They didn't own anything clean and wouldn't accept clothes to look proper. Still, their participation in the ceremony was vital. They stretched out in two long lines that went from the Great Hall, down the corridor, all the way to the castle's front entrance. The first at Harry's side was Dobby.

"We are ready, Harry Potter, sir!" he said with excitement.

"Did you get everyone?" asked Harry under his breath.

"Every servant of Hogwarts is here attending the wedding. Some are nervous to be out of the kitchens. Some have never been in the presence of wizards, but it is the Headmaster's wish and so it will be. It is a grand occasion."

"Very good. Remember what we talked about, Dobby? Sirius is presenting you each with swords for your bravery in the recent battle." Dobby stepped up on a nearby chair so everyone could see him.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir. The house elves are all aware of the Headmaster's kindness," Dobby said loudly, so each of the many house elves gathered could hear. "And since the swords are… not… clothes…, we can accept them graciously… in front of all these wizards."

Dobby's words were, perhaps, a bit mechanical. One might even say they sounded rehearsed, but the other house elves nodded in agreement and they began to line up as the groomsmen handed them each a small sword and scabbard, while reciting a brief incantation.

_From the hand of the Headmaster, Sirius Black,  
__ we present this sword, but not to attack.  
__Remove the scabbard and raise the point high,  
__to celebrate love as the couple comes nigh.  
__And when they walk past, both pieces you'll own  
__ for the bravery, wisdom and love you have shown._

"Do you accept this gift?" they would ask and to a house elf all said, "Yes."

Each house elf kept the sword sheathed at their sides, waiting for the end of the ceremony when Ron and Hermione would step from the Great Hall and outside for the reception being held on the castle grounds. By the time each house elf had received their gift, Cho and Gabriella had returned.

"Is she ready?" Harry asked, kissing Gabriella on the cheek.

"Don't be silly," she replied. "Would we be here if she weren't?" Cho stepped over and hugged Harry.

"When I told her Ron had arrived, the light returned to her eyes. I've never seen anyone more filled with joy."

"Her father, however," added Gabriella, "is a bit of a wreck. I've asked Parvati to keep an eye on him in case he starts to pass out or something dreadful like that."

"Luna is going to take that thing out of her nose before she walks to the altar, right?"

"Just get on with it. I'm starting to get hungry."

"You sound like Ron." Harry raised his wand again and a second chime sounded. Music began to play and the groomsmen and bridesmaids lined up arm-in-arm and started down the aisle toward Ron, who was standing alone by the Minister. Harry, the best man, walked with Ginny, the maid of honour. Gabriella paired off with Draco, Dean with Lavender, Fred with Luna, Ralph with Betty. Last of the weeding party were George and Cho who while walking arm in arm were walking quite close together. Harry shook hands with Ron as he came to stand next to him as did all the other groomsmen as they passed. His hands were wet, but Harry resisted the temptation to wipe his own hands on the front of his robes before everyone gathered.

Standing up at the front, looking out over the sea of people, Harry had the opportunity to take in what an enormous crowd it was. There were visiting dignitaries near the front on Ron's side. Hermione's mother sat with Sirius on Hermione's side along with a handful of other family members and the vast majority of the students. Ron's family, brother's cousins, aunts and uncles stretched out in a swath of red hair. Cormack McLeod,

Manager of the Montrose Magpies, was seated near the back.

At the very front, directly across from Cho, was Professor McGonagall, holding little Jamie. He seemed quite content, particularly after his mother entered, though he was less focussed on her and more interested in the swirling glow of fire represented on the ceiling of the Great Hall.

Once Ralph and Betty were in position, the music stopped and there was a moment of silence. All heads turned toward the back and, as the Wedding March sounded, everyone stood. In the back of the Great Hall, Hermione Granger came forward. Golden butterflies appeared and began to flutter about just in front of her as she stepped forward. Rose petals emerged in the air through which they flew, and fell softly into the aisle before her.

She wore the same white wedding gown that her mother had worn when she married Hermione's father. Clearly made by hand, it was inlaid with white crocheted flowers and the occasional jewelled stud. It was simple, but beautiful. Lavender had worked tirelessly to keep that sensibility, while giving it a more modern look. The dress fell slightly away from the shoulders and the lace was less flowery and more sheer, creating something slightly sensual. Hermione added a few magical touches of her own. The threads glistened iridescent and shimmered, emitting their own light. The train was lengthened and trailed behind her never touching the ground. Harry also noticed that she must have been wearing some sort of enchanted perfume, because every young man she passed swooned as she walked by. Her face was glowing and he couldn't imagine that she had ever doubted for a moment that Ron would be here by her side. For his part, Harry was always confident that, whatever trials they had faced, Ron would be standing right where he now was. His best friend may have been hesitant earlier, but those were just jitters. Since the day Hermione told him to clean the smudge off his nose, they were destined to be together.

Ron just stood awestruck at her beauty. As she approached the altar, Harry had to give him a little nudge, reminding him to step out and take her hand. The soon to be newlyweds were both nervous as they faced the minister.

Reverend Chalmers had been a part of the Weasley family for over five decades. He'd married Molly and Arthur, had overseen the baptism of every one of their children, had presided over his mother's funeral and now was marrying the first Weasley child. His mind was sharp, his blue eyes keen and he spoke with a compassion and authority that was sadly missing in the Wizarding world.

As the couple began to exchange vows Harry could feel their energy and the power of their love radiate outward. It was so intense that the Heart of Asha began to reradiate its collected power throughout the Great Hall without Harry even trying. The spirits of those that had lost homes and loved ones in the recent battle began to heal. Harry was so astonished at what was happening that Draco had to poke him from behind.

"Harry," he whispered. Harry turned with a questioning look.

Huh?"

"The rings," he hissed under his breath. Harry turned back to see Reverend Chalmers, Ron and Hermione all looking at him.

"The rings?" kindly asked Reverend Chalmers again. Caught off guard, Harry momentarily forgot which pocket he'd put them in.

"Erm… rings…," he muttered, patting each of his pockets. "Yeah… er… right… here." His hand slapped the small circles of gold in his breast pocket. He pulled them out and laid them in the flat palm of his left hand and held his right hand just over them. "A blessing from Asha," he said softly and fire erupted between his palms. The rings glowed white and then cooled. Harry then handed them to the minister who placed them on a small red velvet pillow. He held his wand over the rings and said a small prayer.

With final words, the couple slipped the rings on each other's fingers. Holding hands, they raised them toward Reverend Chalmers who sealed their bond with his wand.

"You may kiss the bride," he said joyfully.

Ron and Hermione kissed and the walls of the Great Hall reverberated with the cheers and clapping. A few tears slipped down Hermione's cheeks.

"This is the most wonderful day of my life," she said, kissing Ron again.

"Bloody spectacular," whispered Ron as he got lost in her eyes, but then his own eyes twinkled. "But, there's more to be had," he said, smiling and looking back at Harry. "I've arranged a little present for you."

"What? What is it?"

"You'll see in just a moment."

House elves moved into position, lining both sides of the aisle, swords at their sides, their dreary clothes in stark contrast to the richness and glitter of the clothes being worn around them. As Ron and Hermione moved down the steps from the altar, the first pair of house elves unsheathed their swords and held the points high. They then levitated until the two elves could bring their swords up and over Ron and Hermione's heads, forming a sabre arch. The next pair unsheathed their swords and repeated the process until at last a tunnel was formed through which Ron, Hermione and the rest of the wedding party passed. Family members passed next and the house elves continued to hold the swords high until Professor Black exited with Hermione's parents.

He met Ron and Hermione at the front doors to the castle and turned back to the house elves who had now dropped back to the ground, but still maintained their formation through which all the guests were about to pass. Dobby was at his side.

"My dear house elves," said Sirius, his voice sounding throughout the castle. Everyone stopped where they were and listened. "For over a century you have served this castle and its Headmasters faithfully and have presented your talents with a skill that sets the standard by which all others dare to compare. Throughout this last year, Mr. Ron Weasley has been gathering socks from the residents of Hogwarts. It was part of a plan he first devised with the help of Professor Dumbledore quite some time ago. The socks, once owned by those living at Hogwarts, were then passed to me as the school's Headmaster. Few knew of their precious value. Their collective travels represent a comprehensive sampling of Hogwarts grounds and of the many magics that exist here. They are, as are all of our students, imbued with the essence of all that is Hogwarts.

"Three years ago, Hermione Gr- Weasley began an organization she called the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Professor Dumbledore thought it then a noble idea whose time had not yet come. Today that changes. Just before the afternoon's service, having received the last sock donated by are own Harry Potter, I enchanted the socks sealing them with the magics they have collected in their travels about this school. I transformed them slightly to better fit the swords you now hold high. They are the scabbards you carry in your left hands, the scabbards that you have sworn an oath to keep, the scabbards that are indeed simply clothes that now set you free."

Sirius waved his wand, removing the befuddlement charm and the true nature of the socks became evident. While many remained black, many more were coloured, or striped, or polkadotted.

Everyone gasped at what this represented. Some of the house elves tried to drop the socks, but they stuck to their hands like they were charged with massive static cling. They began to approach Sirius and the looks on their faces demonstrated that they were anything but happy. Sirius held up his hands and smiled kindly.

"I am not asking you to leave," he said loudly. "In fact, I ask that you all stay. Stay to help Hogwarts become an even better school. Help me, as has Dobby, show all wizards the wisdom, the strength, and the kindness of house elves everywhere. You demonstrated your bravery on the battlefield, now demonstrate that bravery by facing freedom head on!"

Hermione looked up at Ron as she squeezed his hand. "All year?" she asked. "You were planning this even before… before…"

"Before I asked you to marry me? You're bloody damn right I was," he said with a bit of a cocky smirk on his face. "And I didn't deserve that trouncing when we were heading to Greece! Dumbledore said I needed to keep them with me as long as I could. It was like simmering a stew. If it was going to work, it needed to take time. That's why you couldn't just go leaving socks lying about and hope they'd take one."

Lespty, one of the oldest of the house elves stepped up to Sirius and bowed low. For over five decades his sole responsibility had been the care and maintenance of the astronomy tower.

"The times of change are upon us all and house elves are no exception. Creatures about the world are learning that it is a much smaller place than we once thought. If we don't take up the opportunity that Harry Potter has presented, we may never see it again. If Lespty were younger, Lepsty would travel to see the giants and learn their ways, but Lepsty is old and adventures are best left to the young. If you will have Lepsty, Headmaster Black, Lepsty will stay at Hogwarts." Sirius knelt low and wrapped his arms about the aged house elf.

"It would be my honour, Lespty."

Following their elder, each house elf stepped forward and presented their case for staying at Hogwarts. Sirius accepted them all, but reminded them that they were free to leave at any time and that they would receive pay and be asked to wear more proper clothing. He waved his wand and the dirty smocks that each of the house elves wore was replaced with one of silver that accented the wedding colours perfectly. Dobby was so excited he wept and blew his nose into his. Hermione hugged him and then she reached up and hugged Ron.

"I can't believe you did this for me," she said, barely able to control her tears. "All year?"

"Not even I knew," said Harry as he walked past with Gabriella. "I thought he was just a nutter, but… he's my best friend. What was I gonna say?"

Harry and Gabriella hugged them both and continued outside and down the entrance stairs to the castle toward the front lawn facing the lake below where chairs and tables had been set up for the reception. He was about to conjure some tablecloths when they suddenly appeared.

"The house elves didn't take much time off; did they?" said Gabriella, sitting at the head table. People were filing out of the castle, hugging Ron and Hermione as they went. "Are you sure you don't want to be in the receiving line?" she asked.

"Like we agreed," he said. "It's their day." He leaned back in the sun and looked up at the sky with both hands tucked behind his head. There was still an iridescent glow that kept the sky looking as if it were on fire. He wondered if the remnants of Ebyrth would hang in the sky forever. Professor Sinistra had said that the gasses were collapsing, pulling in toward each other, but they covered so much of the sky it was difficult to tell. "Have I ever told you that I loved you?" he said looking at the sky.

"Why yes," said a deep voice, "but only in your sleep."

Draco pushed Harry upright and slipped behind him to sit on the other side of Gabriella. Fred was with him, but he instead chose to pace about.

"Lots of talk about brotherly love," said Fred with a bit of irritation in his voice, "but not too many people were interested in shaking the hand of a werewolf."

"Or a vampire," added Draco.

"That's not right," said Gabriella. "Where's Remus? I saw him with Mama during the ceremony."

"They slipped upstairs the moment they had a chance," said Draco, suggestively raising and lowering his eyebrows.

"Draco!" chided Gabriella.

"I don't think you need to worry, Gab," said Fred. "Dad went with them."

"Oooh, even _more_ interesting," said Draco, smiling at Fred who couldn't help but laugh.

"Stop! I don't even want to picture it!"

Before long, they were surrounded by people. Ron and Hermione had joined them for the meal and then there was music and dancing and cake and the throwing of the bouquet, which Ginny caught causing Dean to turn red, if that were possible. It was, in every aspect a perfect day.

The day drew on and the sun began to set. Many of the guests had departed, but quite a few remained. Nearly all the wedding party stayed with the exception of Cho, who was escorted home by George. Harry was dancing a slow dance with Gabriella, but was barely able to stay awake.

"I overheard someone talking about how you wore just one sock to show your support for house elf freedom,' she said with a smile. "I must have seen two dozen wizards today with just one sock. You've started a movement and it was Ron's idea." He sighed.

"It'll make the papers tomorrow, I'm sure," he muttered. His head was on her shoulder and he kept nodding off. The third time she told him to wake up he had to vanish the drool off her dress with the wave of his hand, hoping she wouldn't notice. Suddenly she stopped dancing and poked him in the ribs to turn around.

"Harry?"

It was the voice of Mr. Weasley. He hadn't spoken to Harry since he awarded him the Order of Merlin and the ceremony was so frenzied they barely had a moment to shake hands let alone chat before Arthur, as Minister, was hauled away for other business. He was flanked by Remus and Soseh who had worn their finest to the wedding. Their faces were beaming, so much so in fact that Harry wondered if maybe Remus had hit the fire whiskey a few too many times. Joining them was Antreas who wore the white robes of the Votary, which seemed a bit overkill for this late in the day. Remus and Soseh were holding hands, dispelling any doubt that they were together.

"Minister," said Harry, holding out his hand. Arthur Weasley took the hand and pulled Harry close.

"Harry," he whispered in his ear. "Minister? Really? Never again, at least not to my face. Is that clear? You'll call me Arthur, okay?" Smiling warmly, Arthur pulled back to look Harry in the eyes. "Okay?"

"Okay," said Harry happily. There was a camera flash from somewhere. Clearly Colin was about.

"We would have taken you in as a Weasley, if we could have, Molly and me. We talked about it often. You were and are always welcome. You know that don't you?" Harry nodded and Arthur's eyes smiled. "Particularly now that we have a free bedroom upstairs."

"Ron!" he called out to his son, who was dancing, oddly, with Dobby, clearly a side effect of too many toasts. "You do intend to move out, right?"

"Erm… yeah," said Ron, nodding his head, but realizing that he and Hermione didn't really have any other place to stay. He considered asking Hermione's father, thinking that Fred should come live with them since her parents really hadn't had a chance to properly get to know a werewolf. Fortunately, the drinks had clouded his thinking a bit and he stopped worrying about it almost immediately. "Come on, Dobby. Let's try a tango!"

"There is a favour I have to ask of you, Harry," said Arthur. Almost instantly, Harry's mistrust of everything ministerial flared and the protective walls came up.

"Yes?" he asked sceptically.

"Can you find Patrick and bring him here. We haven't been able to find him." It was a bit anticlimactic, certainly not the type of question Harry expected.

"Well, I saw him and James with a couple Ravenclaw students down at the lake just a while ago. Severus was showing them how to catch Grindylows. Let me take a look." With the speed of a Centaur, Harry ran to the lake, told Patrick the Minister wanted him at the castle, told James he'd caught a fine fat Grindylow, and had returned before Arthur Weasley had had a chance to finish his sentence. "He's on his way," Harry said.

A few minutes later, Patrick came running, huffing hard, up the hill. Soseh had stood watch, waiting for him to arrive. When she saw him, she shuddered slightly, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"He reminds me so much of Dakhil… back in the old days." She had been told what had happened in Singehorn's Eye, but very few others had. Harry didn't want anyone to know that Patrick had a bit of Tom Riddle in him. No matter how good that part of Tom was, no one would believe that anything but hate could have existed. If they weren't careful, Patrick would be accused of being Voldemort. Having vampire blood run through his veins was bad enough.

When Patrick arrived, Soseh gave him a grand hug. They had visited and chatted often after the battle and during the reconstruction of Hogsmeade. They had grown quite close over the last few weeks. Gabriella had said it was because her mother wanted to stay, in some way, connected to Dakhil, but Harry thought that there was something more at play.

"Minister," said Patrick, holding out his hand. "Harry says yeh wanted teh see me?"

"Yes, Patrick," said Arthur, returning the handshake. "I have something rather important to ask you." He put his hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Soseh and Remus have asked to be your parents. They want to adopt you." Patrick's eyes widened. A part of him wanted to leap out of his skin with joy, but another part held him back, wondering if it were really true.

"Soseh and Remus?" he asked. "But… but they're not married. How does that work?"

"We took care of that little detail just a few minutes ago," said Arthur. Gabriella let out a yelp, covering her own mouth. Her eyes jumped out at her mother's, but Soseh, shyly looked away. "They are now Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, and—"

"and more than anything," interrupted Remus, dropping to one knee in front of Patrick. "More than all the stars in heaven, we want you to be our son."

"The choice is yours, Patrick," said Arthur, already seeing on Patrick's face that the choice had been made. "Antreas and Gabriella will be your older siblings, but you may want to consider it would mean having Harry as a brother-in-law."

"I knew it!" yelled Patrick with joy and he wrapped his arms about Remus' neck. "I knew it! I knew it!" Soseh stepped over.

"Is that a yes?" she asked gently. Patrick let go of Remus and hugged them both.

"Yes! A thousand times yes!"

A small group that had clustered about to see what was going on began to clap and cheer. Gabriella looked at her brother and suddenly realized why he had dressed so well to watch the wedding. He had gone to two weddings today.

"You knew!" she hissed, pointing her finger at her brother. "You knew and you didn't tell me." She stepped toward him.

"You didn't tell me _you_ were getting married," he said smiling, but backing away from his sister. "Besides, they needed a witness and I'm the oldest."

"Oldest! What does that have to do with anything?"

"Mama asked—"

"Stop it!" snapped Soseh. "Come here and hug your brother!"

Gabriella stopped advancing on Antreas. She bit her lip, smiled and, together with her brother, went over to hug Patrick.

"You too, Harry!" said Soseh. "You're family." Harry obliged.

When he joined them all, it was hard to imagine ever being alone. He was surrounded by family. "The Lupins," he whispered out loud, holding his hands out wide. Beyond that there were the Weasleys and the Changs. There was Macleta and Felspar and Ronan whom he held dear. And soon he would travel to the Carpathians to preside over the ceremony marking the passing of Singehorn. The dragons and Votary represented an even larger family and a grand mission remained before them.

At last it was Patrick that broke the hug and turned to look directly at Harry. His eyes were concerned as if something quite troublesome had just occurred to him.

"Harry, this doesn't mean the deal's over, just because I'm not an orphan anymore, right? We said teh the end – I'll watch your back, and you'll watch mine. We'll still stick together, won't we?" Harry smiled warmly and put both hands upon Patrick's shoulders.

"We have a new deal now, Patrick. We're bound as brothers by the blood of dragons and nothing in the world will ever change that. Now we can't just watch each other's backs, we have to search out and find all those who are in need. It is a new calling, a greater calling, but we'll do it together."

The marks on both their arms seemed to shimmer slightly and a knowing expression passed over Patrick's face. He nodded as all apprehension disappeared and they shook hands in the manner of the Votary, true brothers till the end.

~~~***~~~

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry for the lack of action in this one, but there aren't any more bloody fight scenes to be had. I'd be interested to get feedback on humor. I'm trying to see if it works, but no one wants to say. Of course that only makes me think it's weak. Laughter or tears, I'm not sure which, but one more chapter to go... By the way, the next chapter bears the name of the title of the story. Care to venture a guess why? I've left a ton of hints.

Edwin Perez left a really kind review and asked that I send him an e-mail, but the address was blocked. Probably a FF thing. Edwin, if you want updates you'll need to use _at_ in the spot where the at-sign goes in your e-mail address, or better yet register with FF and send me a private message. That way you can also get instant alerts -- way cool!


	55. Mother Maia

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 5****5 – Mother Maia**

Author's Note: This was going to be the last chapter, when all of a sudden Maia, the sea goddess that Gabriella has seen under the lake at the falls appeared. I think maybe a review asking for a story of what had happened under there summoned her. OMG! What can I say? It's not my fault. The good news is there's one more chapter!

**~~~***~~~**

It was odd, really, walking out the castle doors for the last time. Oh, he knew he'd be back, someday. His godfather was headmaster after all; there would be plenty of opportunities to visit. Years from now his son would learn to be a man here as had he, but this was different. He was leaving home, the only true home he'd ever known. It was the end of something grand and the beginning of something new, something unknown. A few weeks ago he had made fun of Ron for saying that things wouldn't be the same. Now, Harry felt those words in his heart more than ever. Perhaps his greatest hope for change was that it would be a time of peace.

Holding Gabriella's hand, he looked back at the large wooden doors to the castle. He just stared blankly, examining their grain and colour. He'd passed through them countless times, never truly appreciating the Hogwarts crest above the entrance. The four houses joined by the great letter _**H**_. Such different types of people, sorted by a hat because that's what it was enchanted to do, but the distinctions were not so clear cut and the divisions which were once so absolute were now beginning to blur. It would be a new beginning for Hogwarts, and a new age for the Wizarding world.

Beneath the crest was a motto in Latin that he once knew, but it had faded into the back of his memory, an obscure remnant of class lessons and rules that was now lost. It was Latin after all. Today, he read it again for what seemed like the first time.

_"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus,"_ he said out loud. He turned to Gabriella and said, "Do you know what it means?"

"Don't be silly, of course I do. _'Never tickle a sleeping dragon.'_ A wise motto, though I've never really met one that's ticklish. Tûzkár, maybe, when he was younger."

Harry held up his hand and looked at his forearm. The mark of the Votary was clear and the dragon, the Hungarian Horntail Asha, was distinct. He sighed. The _Prophet_ was calling him one of the greatest wizards of all time, comparing him to the likes of Dumbledore. It was rubbish. Harry didn't have half the skills Dumbledore had in his small finger and he knew it. It didn't matter. The _Prophet_ declared him ruler over the dragons. They had no clue that the dragons were not ruled by any wizard and that he only had a relationship with just one small part of the dragon kingdom. There was no telling what the other dragons around the world would do. By Singehorn's wishes, that had now become the Votary's mission.

"Do you think they can keep their word?" he asked. "Can there ever be peace between wizards and dragons?"

"Ron's dad will try with the Ministry in the U.K., and Sirius will try to make it happen here. That's a start."

"But inviting the Hebredians to watch the school's Quidditch matches," Harry shook his head, smiling. "How crazy is that?"

"Hermione told me that Ron's been talking about starting an all dragon team. She thinks Fred and George gave him the idea." She shrugged.

Harry just rolled his eyes. He stepped over to the doors and touched them one last time to say good-bye and then the two made their way down the castle steps. The sun was warm and summer was in full swing. They walked by Hagrid's hut and Harry stopped for a moment as his memories there lingered. Hagrid was gone, off with Olympe to discuss relations between wizards and giants. This time not because there was a war to be had and sides to be chosen, but because it was an opportunity for greater understanding between two very different peoples, who in many ways were very much alike. Hagrid was living proof of that.

When they walked through the open gate toward Hogsmeade, they paused to say a prayer one last time for Pansy and for all those that had lost their lives because of the evil kindled by just one wizard. Harry asked that he could live the rest of his days and never see such hatred again, but both Dakhil and Dumbledore had spoken of other evils, other darknesses that would step up to fill the void. He could only hope that it would take time.

Once in Hogsmeade, they stopped by Fred and George's shop and were surprised to see Draco there. The shop smelled of fresh paint and wet lacquer mixed with the scent of freshly opened boxes. Wearing a workman's apron, Draco was putting some strange gadgets on shelves near the front of the store. He looked every bit as if her were a common employee, albeit with perfect hair.

There were a number of customers clamouring about. Buzzing, ringing and the occasional explosion filled the air, creating a somewhat chaotic atmosphere as Fred, working behind the register, kept taking people's money.

"Draco?" asked Gabriella. "I thought you'd had enough of Hogsmeade?"

"Surely even you are aware, Gabriella," Draco drawled, standing upright and wiping his hands on his apron, "that Mother's ribbon cutting is tomorrow."

"And you're in here putting boxes away?"

"Just helping out a fellow outcast is all."

"Fred, where's George?" asked Harry over the top of three younger girls, examining love potions. Fred glanced at him briefly, held up a finger and took a galleon from a rather old lady as he handed her a small paper bag.

"Remember, Ms. Tumbledon," said Fred, speaking somewhat louder than normal, "no more than once a day." Harry stepped over to the counter.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Senseless Sandies – cookies that make you non-senseable. You can't be seen, touched, heard, tasted, or smelled. They only last thirty minutes, but the side effects are pretty nasty if you use them too often.

"She wants to disappear?" asked Harry.

"No, she wants her husband to disappear," answered Fred. "Says it's the only peace and quiet she gets all day. As for George… well he's, erm, out."

"Out?" Harry said sceptically. "Okay, I get it. Out. Well remind him about the ceremony for Singehorn. You two are going, right?"

"Two?" Fred asked. "Which two?" He looked over to Draco who had returned to stocking shelves near the front window. "I mean, why would you think that—"

"You two," said Harry in exasperation. "I already know Draco's going." He turned toward the window. "Draco, when are you leaving for the Carpathians?"

"We're leaving early," said Draco over his back. "As soon as Mother's big show is over. You're right Gabriella, I've had enough of this hellhole. Why I would ever want to see this place again is—" He stopped himself for some reason. It was as if he'd lost the thread of what he wanted to say, but he quickly found it again. "Oh, Harry. She wanted me to thank you for not coming. The less non-Narcissa publicity the better."

"Okay… you can speed out of here, but we're taking our time," said Harry grabbing Gabriella's hand just as she reached out to touch the _Untouchable Underwear_. He walked her toward the door. "We'll see you all there, I guess. Erm, give our best to George… when he's not _out_ anymore."

"Hey, Potter," said Draco, just before the two exited. "We'll be hanging out at Dakhil's. Getting things in order… you know. If you want to come by, drop me an owl first, okay?"

"What? You and Blaise need some privacy?" Harry smiled.

Draco's jaw immediately clenched and the front plate glass window shattered. Gabriella's eyes opened wide, wondering why Draco was so upset. Draco pulled his wand and with a single wave the glass was repaired. He took in a deep breath.

"Just owl me, got it?"

"Sure, Draco. I can respect that." Harry waved at Fred who was busily taking another customer's money and stepped out onto the sidewalk with Gabriella.

"That was strange," said Harry. "It was just a little joke. And what's with the 'George is out' routine?"

"He's probably with Cho," said Gabriella casually. Harry suddenly stopped walking. Gabriella looked back at him. "What? Does that bother you?" she asked.

"B-Bother me? No. No it doesn't… bother… me. I mean… That would explain… Three times I've been over to her parents to visit. You know? Three times I saw Jamie, but not Cho. She was… George? Really? Do you think?"

"They were getting a bit giddy together at the wedding. Maybe."

"George?" Harry tapped his fingers against the side of his leg as he considered the implications, completely forgetting Draco's strange behaviour. Then he smiled and began to walk. "George." He pulled his wand to Apparate… "Thank Merlin it wasn't Fred." He chuckled and then his eyes twinkled at Gabriella. "You know, Cho always did have good taste in men." There was a _swish_… and he disappeared.

Their trip to Greece was playful, romantic and restful. It was everything their last journey across Europe wasn't. They made time to take in the sights they hadn't seen and to simply enjoy each other's company. It had been over a year since they were truly alone together for any significant amount of time. In those moments of intimacy, Harry began to fall in love with Gabriella all over again. They were learning more about each other and it was strengthening their bond, a bond which had already withstood the crucible of fire and water.

At first when people called them by Mr. and Mrs. Potter, it made Harry think of his parents, but now he was growing into that skin, becoming comfortable with what that name meant, knowing that they would live and love and grow old together. He began to daydream about their future together and the life they would share. It was becoming clear, as they made their way toward Greece, that Gabriella thrived near the water. He didn't mind. He was beginning to take a liking to beaches, though he rarely entered the sea. A life near the water wouldn't be so bad. Sirius had offered Harry the castle in Greece, saying that the walls needed to hear laughter and love. Harry had declined, but now he wasn't so sure. Her joy of the salten spray was becoming his joy. Perhaps Greece would be the perfect place to begin their life together.

Nearing the end of their travels, Harry and Gabriella were sunning themselves on a beach in Italy, somewhere south San Vincenzo. They'd spent too much time in the sun and it would soon be setting, but they were soaking in the opportunity to rest without interruption. The beach was a sandy flat that stretched on forever in both directions with not a person in sight. The day had been warm, but as the sun lowered toward the horizon the breeze began to pick up and the waves began to crash more fiercely against the shore. There was a distinct marine smell in the air that reminded Harry of… He shook his head. _It couldn't be_. He lifted his eyes to the sea.

Harry saw her at once, a beautiful woman stepping out of the surf. She was somewhat large, but striking in appearance. Her black hair draped down upon her bare torso below which she wore a shimmering emerald wrap.

"Maia!" he gasped. "She's come."

"Harry!" the nymph called out. "I thought those were your toes I saw earlier. Too scared to jump in?" She looked back over her shoulder. "The waves are a bit big today." She stepped closer. "You're not afraid of the water, are you? I feel like you've been avoiding me."

Both Harry and Gabriella took to their feet as if they were soldiers and the commanding general had just walked into their barracks.

"Oooh. Darling Harry." Maia clucked her tongue, looking Harry up and down. "You may want to be careful about getting too much sun where it rarely shines." She smiled, revealing that their gesture of respect had pleased her. She waved her hand in the air. "Sit… sit." A lounge chair made of some thatched material appeared at her side and she sat toward the sun, her back to the beach. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

"So tell me, Child of the House of Hayk," she said without raising her head or opening her eyes. "Harry may not dabble much in the surf, but I've seen you. You like these waters, don't you?" Gabriella didn't hesitate.

"Yes, Maia," she said earnestly. "Though the waters near Tripoli are still my favourite. More so now. Harry's eyes remind me of my home."

"Yes," Maia nodded, "I can see that." Her wrap began to brighten as a brilliant green weaved its way into the fabric until the colours matched those of the waters off of Tripoli. "But you haven't travelled nearly enough… the Keys off the coast of Florida, the Great Barrier Reef, oh and Maldives – one of my favourites." As she sighted each place, her wrap changed colours of green and turquoise and vivid blue, and then she sighed contentedly. "You simply must see them all."

"I… I can't wait," Gabriella said suddenly sounding nervous. There was something in the way Maia said the last words that was bothering her. "I'm sure, after the ceremony of Singehorn, we'll begin our travels."

"Sure," said Harry, "We can—"

"Now, now," interrupted Maia. "Let's not ruin a perfectly wonderful day. No need to prattle on." She still lounged back without opening her eyes. "Gabriella, you know perfectly well what I'm talking about. We made a deal."

"But—"

"No. No buts. Melusina was going to turn you to dust. This man's love and your pledge to be a daughter of the sea… Well, the time has come. Really, you _must_ see them all."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry, his mouth becoming dry. Pinpricks of tingling sweat appeared on his palms. "We're not going anywhere."

"Correct, love," said Maia. "Only Gabriella."

"What?" snapped Harry. "No! What right do you have to—"

"Right?" hissed Maia, grinding her teeth. The waves of the ocean rose high and crashed down, spraying them all, but Harry pulled his wand and repelled the water. "You pretend your memory fails you," she said. "I would have thought better."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saved them both! _That_ gives me the right!" said Maia, rising to her feet and looking fiercely at Harry. "I can see your eyes betray you. You remember. Do you deny it?" Harry thought back to when he was below the surface with Draco. Melusina was challenging Draco's life and Harry was finding it hard to defend his friend in any way that would meaningfully satisfy her.

~~~***~~~

* * *

How long they had been below the surface of the water, Harry couldn't tell. Draco's muffled screams had continued for an eternity until there was nothing left to scream. His voice had left him, but the pain remained in his eyes and across his face. The waters were dark and cool upon their bare skin, but they could breathe, if that's what they were doing. The nymphs had refused to tell them anything about Patrick, though Harry sensed he was near and that he was safe. It was the same connection he had had with Dakhil. They also had refused to unbind Harry's hands, fearing that he might use magic, but said that he was free to go. He wouldn't leave Draco alone, facing the wrath of Melusina as he was, and this seemed to please Maia who, for the most part, sat in the background disinterested, sipping tea and filing her nails.

The questions were endless and no answer would satisfy Melusina. She would swim so close you could taste her scent in the water. Her eyes would flash yellow, like two burning suns, but the orbs held no warmth. They were filled with anger, or hatred, or resentment, Harry couldn't tell which and, every so often, their attention turned to Harry and his own failings over the past year. When that happened, it felt as if a thousand wasps had landed on his naked body, stinging him all at once. Only then would Maia silently rise up, and only then would Melusina back away.

His mind couldn't help but plot in Melusina's destruction, perhaps out of anger, but he would have preferred to think that it was out of necessity to rescue his friend. If his hands hadn't been tied, he most certainly would have tried, all thought of forgiveness forgotten. It was only when Maia had said that Gabriella had returned safely to her brother on the surface that the anger in his heart had ebbed. Maia had said that her fate was secured with the daughters of the waters which, at the time, sounded like a good thing. For Draco, however, the fates appeared to be leading to a wholly different ending. During a particularly vicious line of questioning, Melusina began to attack Draco's hatred for his father.

"You're wrong, sister. His love for his father is clearly there," said Maia, briefly looking up from her nails. When Draco would try to find it, Melusina would throw all the evil things his father had done to him – the drugs, the torture at Voldemort's hands, being turned to a vampire. The anger would rise in Draco's heart and pain would rack his body.

"Draco, let it go," said Harry at last, trying to break the cycle. "You have to forgive him."

"From fire to— water," Draco muttered, grimacing in between. "I clung to life for this?" He spat toward Melusina, with no effect. "Fire and water. I hate them both. Fire and water." He began to repeat this over and over and then, without cause, stopped. Harry could see that Draco had surrendered. He had resigned himself to his fate. He looked up at Melusina and refused to answer any more questions. Harry could sense the surge of her punishment, but Draco didn't wince.

"Kill me," he said. "I'm through. Harry, get Patrick and go." Melusina smiled and raised her hand above his head. It began to glow.

"No!" Harry yelled. Melusina was surprised at the outburst.

"You care so much for this blotch?" she asked.

"There is a connection there," added Maia. "Surely, my dear sister, you can feel its power."

"Nonsense," retorted Melusina. "Nothing more than passing curiosity."

"And the others?" asked Maia. "I have no doubt, you can hear them calling from the surface."

"Yes, yes," snapped Melusina, growing more frustrated. "It's becoming meddlesome, but not beyond my power to control."

Harry could see by the irritation in her expression that whoever was calling above was interfering with her plans for Draco. He would add his own to the voice, or voices above.

"You ask if I care, Melusina," swimming toward her. "You already know the answer to that question. You both do. He has become a part of who I am and what I have become. He has helped me push back the greatest darkness the age has known. He deserves your thanks, not your vitriol." At this Maia became interested once again and she swam over to join them, slipping in between Melusina and Harry, her back toward her sister who was miffed at the insertion.

"Words are easy, Harry," she said with a smile, caressing his cheek with her finger. "Are you willing to sacrifice?"

"I would give my li—"

"Tsk, tsk," she interrupted. "That is no longer ours to garner. No… what would you give in exchange?" She fondled his caduceus earring with her hand and then slid down his neck to the leather thong and silver disk that hung there. "What trinket would you part with? What of the ring on your finger, or the stone beneath your flesh?" Her hand slipped over Harry's chest and came to rest just over the Heart of Asha. Would you surrender your power, or your most prized possession to set your dearest friend free?"

For a moment, Harry hesitated. He wasn't sure that they were truly his to give. They were the property of the dragons and Harry was simply their keeper. Yet, if it was within his ability to give them away to save Draco's life… he would. If it wasn't, Maia would have to ask for something else and Harry had no worldly possession that he wouldn't gladly give away to save Draco's life. As he pondered, Maia became inpatient, shrugged and began to turn away.

"Wait!" said Harry. "Yes… yes I would—"

"Harry, stop!" cried Draco. "You're thinking like a Gryffindor. It's a trap. She's holding all the cards to a game only she knows the rules to. Think it through."

"Sister," said Maia, "I really must get to my nails. Do what you must, but you know the rules."

"Yes, I know the rules!" said Melusina indignantly. She glanced up at the surface and muttered something to herself.

"There's no time, Draco!" yelled Harry. "Maia, take of mine what you will, but spare his life."

"So be it," said Maia smiling, she waved her hand and a bubble appeared in the water. Within in it they could see Dean preparing to jump into the water. "Did you notice this other, sister? He appears willing to sacrifice himself for his friend. Draco, you said that nobody cared, that you were a loner, and yet you have so many friends willing to die for you."

"No!" yelled Draco, seeing Dean prepare to jump into the lake. "Don't let him. Take me now! Don't let him in the water! Take me!"

Melusina screamed in disgust and disappeared. A swirl of bubbles surrounded Draco and the ties about his hands floated away. Suddenly, he was launched upward to the water's surface like a cannonball.

"Self sacrifice," said Maia with a sly smile. "There's so little left of it in the world." She began to swim away, but Harry called to her.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you want? What must I give you?"

"What do I want?" said Maia still smiling. "I want to leave this stupid river, but first I must gather up your friend. What must you give me? Well, nothing for now, but I'll decide soon enough… soon enough."

She disappeared into the darkness and emerged with a small baby wrapped in her arms.

"Here is your friend – your protégé, your mentor; the darkness that consumed the world and the light that set it free. I would watch this one, dearest Harry," she said, handing him the child. "There is a power here the world has never known. I must be going."

"Who is this?" asked Harry in confusion. "Where's Patrick?"

"Harry, dear. He's in your arms. Now, be a good lad and make it to the surface before it's too late." She pulled him against her body and kissed his mouth. "You know, I had a feeling about you. I think you're one of my favourites." She patted the baby's head and vanished into water.

* * *

~~~***~~~

Now, standing with Gabriella on the beach next to Maia, Harry wished all the more that she would simply vanish again, but it was clear she had no intention of going anywhere until Gabriella joined her.

"You agreed, Gabriella," said Maia with a smile, "to be a daughter of the sea. And Harry, to save Draco you promised to give up your most prized possession whenever asked. Now that time has come because tomorrow it may be too late. Not to worry though. I won't keep her forever. If you're still around, you can have her back in ten or fifteen years."

"Fifteen years! No!" argued Harry. "It's a trick. You- You fooled me."

"Does it matter, Harry?" asked Gabriella calmly. "Was it not worth it to save Draco's life?"

"You're not actually thinking of going through with this! Fifteen years!"

"We may not have fully understood our agreements, but we gave our word. I would hate to consider the consequences if… one does not deny a sea goddess."

Harry held her in his arms and squeezed. His hopes and dreams of a future had suddenly come crashing down around him. His body shuddered as Gabriella began to cry.

"I'll find a way to get you back, I swear. Until I do, I'll wait for you," he whispered in her ear. "Every sunset, every sunrise, I'll stand by the ocean, waiting for you to return."

"I- I can't ask you to do that." She sniffed.

"You didn't." He reached up and brushed the hair from her eyes. The wind had died away, but the surf continued to crash upon the beach. He looked deep into her dark eyes just as the sun touched the horizon. "Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"

"Maybe once," she said, trying to hoist a smile upon her face. Suddenly she kissed him hard and then let go.

Without saying a word Maia took her by the hand and the two began to walk toward the surf which had suddenly calmed. When she was knee deep, Gabriella turned back to look at Harry. Tears were streaming down her face, but he couldn't help but think she was as beautiful as ever. Her long black hair hung down to her waist around which appeared a copper brown wrap that shimmered with the glittering waves. He stood there, knowing that she took with her his heart and soul, and that he would wait for all eternity for her to return.

Silently, Harry stood and continued to watch the sea after they disappeared beneath its surface. The wind picked up, tossing bits of sand into the air, and his eyes began to sting, but he refused to surrender his vigil. Day turned to night and the stars began to shimmer off the water's surface. Eventually, there were no more tears to be had and his heart grew numb. Tearing his gaze from the horizon, he summoned his robes, slipped them on, and looked at the emptiness about him. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, a ribbon or a jewel, some trinket of remembrance. Whatever it might have been all trace of his love had disappeared. He spun in a slow circle, like a dog chasing its tail, unsure what he should do next. Finally, he stopped and looked up at the swirling mist of fire that still hung in the sky. Emotionless, Harry raised his wand and Apparated to the front doors of Sirius' castle.

He knew his godfather was there. Torches burned brightly on either side of the great wooden doors. He didn't know why he just didn't walk in. Instead, he lifted the great iron ring and knocked three times, the sound reverberating across the countryside. His face expressionless, Harry just stared at the door's wood grain. He'd never really considered it before, the ribbons of darkness and light that melded together, joining to create something so strong and yet quite beautiful. He fingered the surface, imagining his skin entwined with hers, until at last he heard steps. There was an incantation and the doors opened. Sirius, wearing a long white bath robe, had clearly been sleeping. He was about to curse when he realized who was at the door.

"Harry?" he asked, looking at his godson. Harry's face was red and his eyes were swollen, but his expression was blank and his eyes were distant, looking off into some other universe. Sirius stepped out through the door and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, but the young wizard remained wooden and didn't react. "What is it? What's wrong?" He looked about for Gabriella, but she was no where to be found.

"Where's Gabriella?" he asked, still holding Harry's shoulders.

Harry just stood there, silent. _Where had she gone?_ Maybe… maybe it was just a bad dream. Yes, that was it – a bad dream that he would soon wake up from. He blinked hard, closing his eyes tight and thinking that, perhaps, when he opened them he would be back upon the beach with Gabriella at his side. But when they opened, the only thing he saw was Sirius's greying beard.

"Harry?" he asked again, this time with more concern, more insistence for an answer. "What's happened? Where's Gabriella?"

Harry's body began to shake. His knees buckled and he fell into Sirius' arms. His godfather brought him inside and sat with him on a large carpet in the entranceway. The air had disappeared from Harry's lungs and he began to pull in huge breaths, but nothing helped. Finally, he buried his head into his godfather's shoulder and sobbed.

"They took her from me!" he cried out in agony. "Oh, god! Noooo… NOOOO!" He slammed his fist repeatedly on his own thigh. "My Gabriella… she's gone! Sirius, she's gone!"


	56. Lost Hope

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 5****6 – Lost hope**

**~~~***~~~**

When Sirius finally understood what had happened, he took Harry by the arm and together they walked from the castle to the ocean. He summoned a couple lounge chairs and a whole lot of Mythos beer and the two just sat and watched the waves crash upon the shore beneath the moonlight. The sky still glowed with the fire that had lingered since Ebyrth's destruction, though what was once spread across the heavens was now coalescing near Mars. There the sky shimmered and glistened not unlike the connubial band upon Harry's finger. It wasn't until the third or fourth bottle that Sirius spoke anything of consequence.

"Nymphs are smarter than most wizards realize, Harry. They're more beautiful than the setting sun and craftier than the slyest fox," he added just looking out over the surf and sipping his beer. "One summer your father and I got in trouble off of Cuba. A few too many drinks and a bit more bluster than we had right to. I guess, surrounded by Muggles, we had a sense of invincibility. We forgot that, even half-way around the world, Nature's eyes still held us in their gaze.

"Cuba?" asked Harry quietly; his curiosity had been raised. "You never told me this story."

"That's because I'm not proud of it. Your dad… well, I haven't had the chance to tell you how great a man he was. You have a vision, I know, of who he was and what he was like built upon small snippets of stories that people have told you. But such fleeting visions have no base, no centre and can be easily shattered; your visit into Severus' memories are proof enough of that. Your father deserves better. I haven't given you the foundation to be proud of him and I'd hate for you to think less." Sirius leaned up in his chair, set his bare feet in the sand and began to draw circles and arcs through the grains with his wand. "He was a great man, a great friend, and he… he loved you and your mother… so much….

"Before you were born, Harry, James had a mean streak. We both did. I was a Black after all, but your father could be just as arrogant and far more cruel. Back in the day I used to think we were just having fun, joking around. Severus wasn't the only young wizard we tormented. We did it because we could. We were smart and popular and powerful and no one dared touch us. But a decade in Azkaban changes a person. I see now we were just angry, angry at our lives, at the world. My parents saw my future at Vodemort's side, while James' parents, loving as they were, chose to keep their son hidden at home, thinking that smothering him with their wealth would make everything better. I believe the Marauders gravitated toward each other in the first place because we all hated our lives in very personal ways. None of us were very happy, but being together, sharing that pain made it more palatable.

"All through our sixth year, James and Lilly were dating, off and on. Some days they looked to all of Hogwarts like the perfect couple, destined to be the real thing, sort of like Ron and Hermione. And then James would do something boneheaded, like pants a group of second years during lunch, or cast a spell over someone's homework scrolls that would make the ink disappear when they said the word _professor_, and Lilly would stop speaking to him for a week. Her heart was pure gold and she wouldn't tolerate any joke if it came at someone else's expense.

At the end of the year, James had convinced Lilly to travel with him to South America for the summer. They were going to study the ancient Mayan ruins and spend six weeks on a magical enrichment program. It was a chance to get away from his parents, the brewing war and be truly alone with her for the first time. He was as happy as I'd ever seen him. He could push aside his life in the UK and show her the kind of wizard he truly was.

"Then, one afternoon, we stumbled across Severus. He was just sitting there, reading a potions book and scribbling in it like a mad man. We could have just walked past, but James couldn't help himself. Well, you saw from Severus' mind what happened. Your mother saw too and she broke off their summer together. Rather than go alone, he dropped out of the program and decided the Marauders should run away and wreak havoc in Havana. Remus wouldn't dare to leave, knowing there would be a full moon and Peter decided to stay with him. I decided it was the perfect opportunity to split from the Black family, so I went.

"There we were, one bleary-eyed night, the two of us, in some dive of a bar near the beach, when James decides he likes this stunning redhead in the arms of some big burly guy at the bar. I wish I could tell you that I told him to leave her alone, but I didn't. If anything, I encouraged him. That was, after all, our nature." A shot of disgusted air popped from Sirius' lips. "Size didn't matter. James could turn the big guy into a toad if he wanted to. Merlin, if your father had another twenty years under his belt, he'd have wiped the floor with the likes of Voldemort. Fate was not so kind.

"He cast a spell and immobilized everyone in the bar except the redhead. You might have thought she'd be scared, or confused, but she wasn't. She just smiled, drop dead gorgeous, and slipped off her barstool as smooth as silk. 'I knew you were the special one,' she said, stepping over to your father. 'You enjoy mischief, don't you?' She reached over and took his hand in hers. 'So do I.' She snapped her fingers and broke your father's spell. As the whole bar turned to look at them, she kissed him hard on the lips, pulling him tight and holding his hand on her bosom. Mr. Big and Burly wasn't too happy about that and came over to let James know it. When James and I tried to cast a spell to stop him, it didn't work. It was like the magic had evaporated.

"The girl pretended, in an exaggerated way, that she was leaving the guy for James. 'Leave him alone,' she cried. 'I love him and he loves me! We're running away to Scotland!' I swear I saw fire flame from the guy's eyes. Well, he began to pummel your dad so I jumped on his back to stop him. I put my arm around his neck and bit his ear. He grabbed my arm and snapped it as he flipped me off his back. We were beginning to suffer quite a few broken bones until your dad surrendered and transformed to a stag. I followed suit and we got the hell out of there.

"It wasn't until the sun rose that next morning that our wands worked again. Sitting out on the beach just like we are now, drinking a couple of cervezas, he and I were healing our wounds when we saw the woman again. This time she was alone, as striking and as beautiful as ever. I thought, at first, it was coincidence, but I know better now. She noticed us and came running over, all apologetic about what had happened. 'I was just trying to have some fun,' she said. 'Surely you understand, James. A little mischief, now and then never hurt anyone. Did it?'

"He'd never told her his name and yet, somehow, she knew. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek and said, 'You didn't want me anyway, not really. Your heart… it belongs to another. Anyone can see the pain in your eyes, the kind of pain only losing your love can bring.' She came over and lifted my chin with her finger. 'You on the other hand…' she began, but never finished. She kissed my forehead and the pain that was throbbing throughout my body disappeared. She winked and then walked into the surf and disappeared

"I know now she was a nymph. Her name was Bistonis," said Sirius with a sigh. Harry could sense something rousing in his godfather's heart. "Sometimes, on a whim, she'll step from the beach and visit the castle.

"It wasn't until after our little vacation, after James had the shit kicked out of him, that he began to understand. The Headmaster noticed and made him Head Boy. Since I was homeless, James asked me to move in with his family and for the first time I felt welcomed and loved. In the fall of our seventh year, he went out of his way to keep his wand in his pants, as it were, and Lilly took notice. By Christmas they were in love all over again. I'd like to say it was perfect after that, but it wasn't. Old habits die hard, and your father was an arrogant prig. But he refused to join Voldemort despite the Dark Lord's attempts to collect one of the greatest wizards of the time. And when he first held you in his arms, Harry, his purpose in life became crystal clear. Lilly and James committed themselves to fight for a world where you and everyone else could grow up free of darkness. They were never more in love than in those days after you were born. I tell you this, because you need to understand that you didn't destroy them, Harry, you brought them joy and happiness and an enduring love that they would not otherwise have had.

"Bistonis set James upon the right path and your birth sealed his love for your mother. How Bistonis knew…" Sirius shrugged. "There are more magics to be had among the nymphs than any one wizard can dream to understand in a lifetime. Like your father, Harry, your heart is pure. Your love for Gabriella is strong. Maia did not choose her timing randomly, nor the selection of your precious possession. She has something in mind and it has nothing to do with taking her away to see the different colours of blue in the oceans of the world."

Harry emptied the bottle in his hand and opened another. "I don't remember my parents," he said quietly. "I- I miss them so much. I wish my mom were here to cry with me. I wish dad were here to get pissed and light up the ocean." He took a drink.

"They are, Harry," said Sirius softly in return. "They're here… in you. You just—"

"Yeah? In me?"

Dropping the bottle of beer in the sand, Harry rose unsteadily to his feet, extended his arms toward the sea and screamed. Fire erupted from both his hands and shot forward hundreds of feet into the water, sending up an enormous cloud of steam.

"Whoa!' yelled Sirius. "I didn't mean—" Harry stopped.

"That… that felt good," said Harry, smiling for the first time as he reached down and picked up his bottle of beer. The liquid inside began to bubble from the heat of his hands as he wiped the sand from around the lip and took a sip. "I… I don't know what I'd do without you, Sirius. Thank you."

Sirius just shook his head as the two sat back down. They began to talk about battles and Quidditch and dragons and, after a few more stories, eventually Harry fell asleep. When he woke, the morning sky was a powder blue, but the sun had not yet poked its head over the horizon. A small fire burned in midair between Harry's chair and Sirius', but Sirius wasn't in his. Grimacing from his headache and stiff muscles, Harry sat up and tried to focus his vision. In the distance, along the shore, he thought he saw Sirius speaking with someone. He rubbed his eyes. _Was she a redhead?_ He stood up to see better, but when he looked again they were both gone.

Harry shook his head and reached to sit back down. When he turned he found Sirius in his chair, sleeping. Clearly, Harry had had way too much to drink.

"Sirius?"

"What… what is it, Harry?" Sirius asked, opening his eyes.

"You, I- I saw you on the beach."

"Did you? How surprising," said Sirius, reaching down and picking up a handful of sand, then letting it fall through his fingers. "How did I look, hungry?" Sirius stood up, vanished the fire, chairs and numerous empty bottles and, after ruffling Harry's hair, went inside the castle to start breakfast.

Harry waited until the sun broke above the horizon, rubbed the connubial band on his finger and whispered, "I love you," to the waters and headed back to the castle. Ron and Hermione would be arriving soon and he didn't want to look as devastated as he felt.

It was awhile before Harry joined Sirius in the kitchen, prepared to face a new day and travel without Gabriella to Singehorn's ceremony. He poured himself some coffee, sat down and started sipping, holding the cup in both hands and steadying himself by resting both elbows on the table. He did not look well.

"If Soseh were here, she'd have you fixed up in no time," said Sirius. "Here, try this." He levitated a small green bottle over to the table next to Harry. "Should help a little." Harry took a swig. For a moment, he was certain that his head had just become a large popcorn cooker – pops and snaps and the sizzling sound of butter were igniting in his brain. When it stopped, the fog had cleared and the ache had subsided.

"If Soseh were here," said Harry dismally, "she'd kill me for losing her daughter."

"It's not like you lost her. I've sent her word about Gabriella's… well abduction isn't the right word… disappearance. We'll see her tonight before the ceremony. You do know that she can't kill you. Only her daughter can." Sirius began chewing on some bacon and held up a piece for Harry. "Want some?" Harry just shook his head. "Toast then." Some bread flew out of a cabinet and started on fire. "I know Ron was hoping to hop on Buckbeak, but in light of the circumstances, I think it best if we skip flying the Hippogriffs and instead just Apparate up. We can take the extra time to explain things." Harry agreed chewing his charred piece of toast.

Before they left, Harry wandered into the great room that faced north, overlooking the pastures and barns about the castle. The entire face of the castle was one giant window. Harry recalled the many weeks it had taken to reconstruct it before the glass would stop breaking. It was in this room that Anthony had died. Sirius was reading a Greek paper by the large fireplace – the castle's floo network.

"They should be here in about five minutes," said Sirius, not looking up from his paper. The fire crackled and popped as he crinkled his Greek Gazette and turned the page.

"It's quiet around here," Harry whispered, touching the stone walls of the castle with his left hand. His fingers began to tremble slightly and he quickly held them in the other hand. "The ghosts are gone, but I… I still feel Anthony."

"I hope you always will," said Sirius, closing his paper. "That's a good thing. If you didn't feel that, Harry, you'd never truly understand what happened here. Anthony's death was tragic, but because of it part of who you were changed that day and you're now a better man for it." He tossed the paper in the fireplace. "Here they come."

There was a sudden down rush of air and out of the fire stepped Hermione followed only a moment later by Ron who brushed the ashes off his dark robes. It had been barely a couple months, but to Harry he looked much older than when last they met. They shook first and Ron pulled him into a grand hug. Harry noticed the Magpies' team ring on his right hand and held it up with a smile.

"Hey, hey!"

"No special powers, mate," said Ron with a grin, "but it's good for a free ale down on Diagon Alley." Harry turned to Hermione who had just finished hugging Sirius. She clearly was not using a concealment charm and her belly looked so huge Harry thought she could give birth at any minute.

"Just a few more weeks?" Harry asked and Hermione nodded with a smile, placing her right hand on her belly.

"Two weeks and five days," she said. "Not that anyone's counting. Too far along to join you up on the mountain, I'm afraid. I figured I'd just stay here and watch the ocean. It's so beautiful." She glanced about. "Where's Gabriella?"

There it was. He knew it would come and he knew it would come from Hermione. How many more times today would he be asked the same three words? Thankfully, before he had to screw up the courage to get through it, Sirius explained what had happened. Ron was shocked; Hermione began to cry wrapping her arms about Harry. It was all he could do not to burst out blubbering all over again.

"It's okay," he managed to say. "She's fine, so I'm fine. That's what matters. We'll… we'll be together one day."

"Well, I don't want you to stay alone," Hermione said with concern. "Especially not in this huge old castle. After the ceremony, you come back to our place in London. No moping. You and Ron can get out and tear up the town before he's chained to the nursery."

"Yeah," said Harry with a nod and a short shrug, ignoring the fact that the castle wasn't old; he'd just spent two months rebuilding the whole thing from rubble with some of the most advanced wizardry of the time. "Sure." It didn't really matter. He was still a bit numb and his brain was incapable of really thinking more than a few hours ahead, let alone days. "We'll see." Hermione was about to say something when Sirius cut in.

"That reminds me of something, Harry," said Sirius with a slight twinkle in his eyes. "Now that we have witnesses I can hand over the keys to you."

"Now?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"You built it," answered Sirius. "And I'll now be spending most of my days at Hogwarts. Besides, it'll be a chance for you to stay close to her, even while you sleep."

Harry thought about it for a moment and nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, I'd like that." A thin smile appeared on his face.

Sirius performed the ceremony and the magical enchantments fell into Harry's stead. He was now the owner of some of the finest magical property in all Greece. He was also responsible for its keeping and those of the grounds and the animals that lived there. Suddenly, he felt as if he'd just passed some sort of milestone in his life, letting slip the last vestiges of his youth. Perhaps he now bore the same look Ron had when he stepped through the fireplace.

"There's just one more thing we need to do," added Sirius. "Before we leave lets—"

There was another rush of the fireplace, the fire flamed green and out stepped Cho. She was holding Jamie's hand.

"Da!" he yelled and ran toward Harry who crouched low and scooped him up. He was so not expecting this and so thrilled to have his son held tightly in his arms. Cho came over and kissed him on the cheek.

"I'm glad we caught you before you left. He's been babbling your name constantly since last night and I was worried we'd miss you."

Harry reached out and grabbed her in his right arm and squeezed. He was beginning to lose control of his emotions and she noticed.

"Harry?" Cho asked. "What is it? What's the matter?"

Harry could feel the tears dripping down his face and couldn't bring himself to speak. Hermione took Jamie out of his arms.

"Whooo, you've gotten big!" she said brightly. "Come join Mama and me for some tea, okay?" Jamie smiled, but Cho looked more concerned than ever as Hermione led her toward the kitchen.

Ron went over to comfort his friend who had leaned up against one of the stone walls. He placed his hand on his back. "It'll be alright, Harry. You said it yourself. As long as Gabriella's okay—"

The fire roared once more and this time Sirius let loose a few choice words as George stepped out of the fire, brushing the ashes from a set of the finest dress mourning wear made in England. His hair was combed. No. More than that, it was styled. He looked almost dashing, standing there with a small box in his hands. He first saw Ron and Harry by the wall.

"Hey, little brother! Harry!" he said with a smile. "So we're not too late. Awesome. Cho tried to make it through to Sirius' castle, and when that didn't work we figured the switch had been made, which meant that I had to get a housewarming gift, or, in this case I guess, a castlewarming gift." He looked around for Cho. "What? Have the women already started making plans for the place?"

It didn't take long for the general account of what had happened to be made and, while there were many thoughts about what should be done, all agreed that the priority at hand was to get to the ceremony as quickly as possible. Along the way, Ron and George would try to intercept as many questions for Harry as possible, but the general explanation for Gabriella's absence was to be that Hermione and Cho couldn't attend the ceremony for obvious reasons and that Gabriella was with them by the sea.

"Come on, it's time we got going," called Sirius. Hermione kissed Ron good-bye, but Cho just gave George an awkward hug.

"You didn't just do that because of me?" asked Harry. "Because, if you two are in love you need to know that I couldn't be happier." Cho began to blush, and even George seemed somewhat sheepish as to what to do. "Go on," insisted Harry. "Kiss her! You never know if it'll be your last chance." Instead of going toward Cho, George stepped over to Harry and gave him a hug.

"You're a fine friend, Harry."

"Not me you fool! Her!"

It was early afternoon when Sirius, George, Ron and Harry Apparated, brooms in hand, to the small village north of Chata Zverovka where Dakhil's little hut was, the same hut where Draco now stayed. Harry had neglected to owl Draco, but since the ceremony was this evening, he assumed Draco would know he'd be stopping by. He hadn't really expected Ron and George, but didn't think Draco would mind. They wouldn't stay long. After getting things in order, they'd fly up to the top of the mountain.

When they appeared outside of the town, they found it very quiet. The late summer weather was still warm, but the sense of autumn's approach hung in the air, giving it a crispness that accompanied the light breeze. A few of the villagers were walking about, selling goods. Some knew of the upcoming ceremony and, by the look of their dress, would be attending. Harry was about to knock on Draco's door when it opened and out popped Fred. Barefoot, he was wearing blue denim jeans but nothing more. His face was bright with an enormous, devilish grin.

"Wotcher, Harry! Sirius!" he said with a quick wave as he ran past them. He caught eye of Ron and George, stopped and tossed them each a small wrapped candy, and continued running. "Lookin' good George!" he yelled as he quickly crossed the street. An instant later, Draco shot through the door wand in hand. He was also shirtless though he wore one sock and his pants were black and more formal looking than Fred's. His face was smiling from ear to ear though he appeared to be in hot pursuit.

"Come back here you bloody coward, or I'll—" Draco stopped mid-sentence when he saw the wizards at his door. He tried to stifle the smile on his face, though he was having difficulty. "Professor Black," he said with a slight nod, slipping his wand into his back pocket. His eyes shot across the street where Fred had disappeared behind a building. He combed his hand through hair and when he did so Harry noticed the two red marks on his white neck, but he brought his hand down and the blonde hair covered them again. He looked pointedly at Harry. "I wasn't really expecting company."

"I'm sorry, Draco," said Sirius before Harry could reply. "It's my fault. Harry wanted to head straight to the mountain, but I asked if we could stop by here one last time in Dakhil's honour.

"Of course," said Draco with a dignity and comportment that his attire did not portray. "I understand. I can deal with Fred later. Please come in."

Sirius stepped in first followed by Ron and George, but Harry stopped at the door to speak with Draco. He certainly had no intention of interrupting anything, least of all with the Headmaster of Hogwarts and Fred's two brothers. Although, Fred didn't seem to mind.

"I'm so sorry, Draco. I, erm, I didn't know… em, "Where's Blaise?"

"Blaise can go fuck himself."

"Oh," said Harry, figuring this wasn't the optimal time to ask for details. Suddenly Fred appeared and cast a spell from across the street.

"Áreddotu!" Harry called without using his wand, sending the spell backward toward the caster. For a second, Fred disappeared in a halo of blue light. When he reappeared, his pants were gone.

"HA!" yelled Draco, pointing at Fred. "Serves you right! But don't think for a second this is over Weasles. Good one, Harry. The bastard needed a taste of his own medicine," he said with a grin. "Quick, inside."

Harry expected to find the small hut empty. Instead he found it filled with people, only one of whom was fully dressed – Sirius. The others were in various stages of disrobement, including both Ron and George who were chewing the tiny candy that Fred had tossed them. Thankfully, Arthur Weasley had already headed up the mountain, but left behind were a number of other wizards and witches including quite a few Professors, Aurors, and many students that Harry knew from Hogwarts. He had to smile seeing his friends nearly naked. The hut had expanded to take them all in, but it was still one room with a dirt floor and only a cot, a fireplace and a small kitchenette. Most were trying to decipher what pieces of clothing they were missing to reconstruct what they were supposed to be wearing.

"I told you not to eat it!" Harry heard George chiding Ron.

"Then why did you, if you knew what it was?"

"Cho insisted I wear formal dress, but the tie was killing me. Voila! No more tie!"

"What happened?" Harry asked Draco.

"You weren't the only one that decided to stop here first," said Draco. "Thanks to Fred, the place became some sort of impromptu pre-ceremony reception. It's been packed for over an hour, people just standing around looking at each other. Fred couldn't take it anymore." George, wearing one shoe and a pair of pants with only one leg, stepped over to join them.

"It seems my little brother thought it would be funny to hand out some enchanted hors d'oeuvres – bare-bottomed baguettes, nudist nougats, chicken strippers and the like. From what I hear, it took awhile for them to take effect and only about a second to figure out that the guy responsible was the werewolf howling in the corner."

"Well," said Draco, slapping Harry's shoulder, "I'm going to go get dressed. If Fred tries to sneak in, nail him to the wall. I'll be back before you can say, 'blood pie.'" Draco held his hands to his pale chest and fell through the floor.

"Interesting trick," said George as Luna stepped over. She had managed to reassemble her own wardrobe.

"Where's Gabriella?" she asked as she hugged Harry. Instinctively Harry rubbed his ring finger. The band there still shimmered in the light and as his thoughts turned toward her, he sensed joy. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. George, thankfully, interceded.

"I'm afraid she couldn't—" and the two moved away.

"Harry?" He looked through the sea of people and saw Soseh. She was so short he hadn't noticed her before. Fully clothed, she stepped quickly over to him and took him by the hand. "Follow me." She grabbed the handle to the front door and the two stepped out only when they stepped through they weren't out in the street, but somewhere else. It was dark and forested and there was a light dusting of snow on the ground.

"What? Where are we?"

"Someplace where we can talk undisturbed." She noted the confusion on Harry's face. "It's something similar to your fireplaces, disgusting things. And you don't have to be a witch to use them," said Soseh. "Now, tell me what happened to my daughter."

Harry explained as best he could and in retelling the tale his eyes began to glisten all over again. The thought that she would be lost for fifteen years was pulling his heart down and he needed to stay positive for the ceremony. He tried to remember Sirius' words though they seemed distant now. Soseh was more pained for Harry's sake than for her daughter's. Indeed her eyes lit up when Harry mentioned that she had been asked to be a daughter of the sea.

"I know how long fifteen years sounds," said Soseh, "to someone who has just turned eighteen. The nymphs do not mark time as do we. For them the sands in the hourglass fall upon each of life's milestones. If you remain true to who you are, Harry, true to my daughter, you will be surprised at how quickly time can pass."

"I would never turn my back on her!"

"I understand," she said, patting his hand. "And soon you will too. Come, let us return."

"Soseh?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Your clothes. You didn't lose any? Didn't the food affect you?"

"There are advantages to being a Seer, Harry." She smiled slyly and walked with Harry back through the door and into Draco's hut.

By the time they had returned, most everyone had changed. All except for Fred, that is, who had somehow been stuck high onto the wall with nothing on. He looked like some strange, living art piece one might find in a London exhibit. His voice had been silenced, but his face was flush with embarrassment. Draco, Harry, George and Ron were the last to leave.

"Can I keep him there like that?" Draco asked George. "With a sprinkling of moonbeam, I'm sure he'd be kind of cute in a furry, overgrown cherub sort of way."

"You'd have to feed him on occasion," said George dryly. "And I'll need him back for a few weeks at Christmas time. The stores are a madhouse on the holidays."

"Sweet!" said Draco. "Do you have any problem with that, Fred?"

Fred looked like he was cursing in about six different languages. His freckles had exploded across his face into a torrent of red fire.

"I don't hear any complaining. I guess that means you're okay with it. Thanks, George. He'll make for a great conversation piece. In fact, I have some friends coming over tonight." The wizards stepped outside and Draco locked the door. They all broke out laughing.

"When does the spell wear off?" asked Ron. "I mean, it does wear off, right?"

"In about an hour, little brother," said George. "He'll still make the ceremony."

They got on their brooms and flew toward the top of Singehorn's mountain. They passed over a large forest where Harry noticed the ring of trees where Mikael had been killed. Further up, the trees vanished and the countryside was rocky and lifeless. In the middle of this nothingness was a small lake ringed in the only meaningful vegetation around. It was the lake where Gabriella and Hermione had been taken during Harry's hike to the Joining. At the time, cursing at the water's frozen surface, he thought that they had been taken away from him forever. Even Soseh thought she was at risk for losing her daughter.

Now, he understood that there had been a purpose, a reason. Harry had to face the dragon alone; he had to offer himself wholly to the Votary not because he was in love with Gabriella, but for his own reasons. But was it like that now? Was Sirius right? Had the nymphs taken her for a reason he was yet to learn? He circled over the water. It glistened like a small jewel in the sunlight. He closed his eyes, wondering if he might see the water's nymph, but was blinded by its energy. He pulled in a deep breath and shook his head to focus on the task at hand and started back toward the mountain peak.

As they made their way toward the cavern entrances, they flew over the ceremony site, the same great stone pad where Harry had been inducted into the Votary and where his Joining had taken place. He was stunned to see the number of wizards, witches and other magical creatures that had assembled. More were still arriving. Across the great grassy field, an endless number of huts had been set up that reminded him of the make-shift village outside the Quidditch World Cup Finals.

The others pealed off and headed to the crowd below while Harry continued toward the dragons' home. Before he arrived he could already sense their presence. He felt a mixture of joy and anger churning in a strange swirl of emotions. He finally set down at the front gate only to find Marek and Antreas waiting for him.

"Primate," said Antreas. "Mama says that now is not the time to ask about my sister, but I would ask—"

"Tonight, when this is over," promised Harry. Antreas nodded and held out his hand for Harry to enter one of the great caverns, the cavern where once had been Singehorn's lair and where Tanwen now slept.

"She is unhappy, Harry," said Marek. "She has been seething since their return from Britain and it's been getting worse. I'm starting to worry it may be some sort of post traumatic stress disorder. We've tried to find out what's bothering her, but she says she will only speak with you. She would have called you earlier, but sensed your grief. Antreas has not yet told her the cause."

"Not till I understand it myself," added Antreas. "We'll leave you alone. For some reason, she's asked for Mama and Draco. We'll escort them here; it should not take long." Both he and Marek shrugged when Harry questioned them with his eyes. Then they stepped back through the entrance doors and left.

The cavern was enormous, lit by some magical stone that glowed bright white, casting the light of day all about the cavern floor. It smelt of damp and water but not of mould or mildew. He could have used the ring, but chose the more intimate link and closed his eyes and reached out to her with his mind. His forearm burned.

His eyes opened and he found himself on a densely forested mountainside. He turned around and found that it opened out with a tremendous view that continued on for miles. Green mountain top after mountain top stretched out toward the endless horizon. The sound of water flowing caught his attention and he made his way through the trees until he came to a great waterfall. It was patterned after the falls where Singehorn had died and at the base, where the water churned ferociously into a small lake, stood a very tall woman with long black hair and dark skin, somewhat lighter than Singehorn's had been. She was wearing green robes and she was bent over the waters, twirling her finger along its surface almost as if she were having a conversation. Harry stepped closer and she rose to look at him with two great yellow eyes.

"Well, Primate," she said with a deep voice for such a beautiful frame. "What do you think?"

"It's… it's spectacular," said Harry earnestly.

"It is a vision of what might come to pass, if we can hold on to it. But soon it may be lost again to the desert."

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Dragons about the world have joined your Votary's call for peace, but not all. Many have chosen to side with the Chinese Fireballs which are, I'm sure, all the more bitter since the death of Ti-Lung. I'm afraid the time has come to put an end to our battle once and for all."

"What are you talking about?" asked Harry nervously, he could sense her emotions filling him. He was feeling anger and the thirst for retribution and had to fight to discern her feelings from his own.

"Singehorn's ceremony is not the only one we must mark this eve. We lost three brethren at the hands of Ti-Lung's army. Only by the slimmest of fortunes are you, Katana and Antreas able to join us this evening.

"I sense your thoughts, Tanwen, but would question their wisdom."

"Can you not see? Our path is set before us." She sat down upon a large crystal bench not unlike the bench Harry had seen Singehorn sit upon. She brought her hands together and the look of her eyes bore pure hate. "We can no longer wait for them to attack, Harry. We can no longer spend our days living in fear for the day they do. The time of reckoning must be of our own choosing. We must be first to rise up and attack, first to destroy our enemy, first to—"

"What?" Harry yelled. "You can't be serious? After all that we've accomplished, you want to throw it away?"

"They spilt our blood!"

"And we spilt theirs! You know that better than any of us! I have no doubt you still taste it upon your lips!"

"The taste of justice is sweet," she countered undaunted. "You're a fool if you do not see the solution at our fingertips. Outside, upon the great stone altar, hundreds of your kind join to pay tribute to Singehorn. They are, many of them, guided by your hand. If you so choose, it is within your power to lead them into one final battle against the evil that faces us. In one week's time, the Chinese Fireballs and all dragons who dare to join them could be eliminated from the earth, those remaining would cower in terror and we would never again have to sleep in fear."

"I would never wish such a thing," said Harry vehemently. "And even if I did, the wizards below would never follow such a madman!"

"Do you know so little about the powers you possess?" she asked, leaning forward upon her bench. "You would only need to change the wills of a few, control the hearts and minds of others, bending their wishes to your own. The rest would follow like lemmings. So it was with Pravus, so can it be with—"

"Dearest Tanwen, you're… you're not thinking straight. Singehorn would never—"

"Singehorn is dead!" she cried, rising to her feet, the green grass beneath her turning brown. "I am the leader of the Hungarian Horntails, greatest clan in all Europe. You will do as I say!" Her eyes were on fire, but he could also see fear there. His arm began to burn. He looked down and the dragon etched upon his skin was writhing, raised and red, but that was not all. It was joined by the Viswa Vajra and now, more than ever, he needed its strength.

"Tanwen, please, don't make me do this." He nervously rubbed the Ring of Onyx with his fingers. "It won't end well for either of us."

"It is clear to me now," she said calmly. "Singehorn was a fool to entrust you with the power of the ring and Soseh was senseless to bestow you with our mother's heart. It is beyond the old woman's power to take it from you, but her daughter, your Watcher, can.

The greenery of the forest vanished and with it the hope for a new age. The forested mountains were replaced with a vast desert plane. In front of him Tanwen stood tall and defiant. He looked down and shuddered. Beneath her right foot was—"

The scene disappeared. Harry had returned to the cavern. In front of him was the true dragon Tanwen, her yellow eyes glowing with sinister satisfaction. Beneath the giant talon of her right foot was Soseh, pinned to the ground. To Harry's right, fear pressing him back against the cavern wall, was Draco. Marek and Antreas were nowhere to be seen. Harry began to call out when Tanwen stopped him.

"Call anyone, and I will crush her," she threatened.

"Calm down," he said gently, holding out his hands. "There's no need to hurt anyone."

"W-What's going on?" asked Draco. "I thought you said they were your friends."

"They are, Draco," said Harry, casting him an eye to run for the door. Draco began to move, but Tanwen let loose a blast of fire that passed through Harry and turned the door red. Draco stopped his advance and retreated to his original position. Harry brushed off the flammable saliva from his robes. "But right now she's a little upset."

"Yeah… I see that."

"Soseh, tell me where your daughter is," Tanwen howled. Her roar echoed within the cavern. Harry knew that both he and Soseh could understand the dragon. What surprised him was that Draco seemed to follow her words as well.

"You think me such a fool to betray my own daughter?" said Soseh her eyes steeled up at the dragon's breast. "I would sooner die." The dragon pressed down, slightly, and Soseh cried out.

"Stop it!" said Harry, "You're hurting her."

"Tell me where she is!"

"She's gone," yelled Harry. "She's been taken."

"Liar!"

"She has been taken by Maia," said Soseh with a smile. "She has become a daughter of the sea, Tanwen. No mortal creature on earth or in the heavens can touch her now."

"She must perform the transference!" yelled Tanwen. "You will bring her to me!"

"You have seen many suns, Tanwen. You know that is impossible. There is no power that can summon the Daughters and it will be years before Gabriella returns. While her heart still beats upon the earth, there can be no transference without Gabriella's hand even if you were able to kill him yourself, which is beyond you. No Tanwen, Asha's heart remains with Harry."

Tanwen was frustrated and upset. Clearly her plan was not going as she had expected.

"Deceiver, you spoke to me of your vision. This one here." The clawed tip of the dragon's wing pointed at Draco. "He is to be the next Primate." Her head bent low and she looked directly into Draco's eyes. "I can see his thirst for power, his taste for blood. Let me speak to him."

"That is against our ways," said Soseh. Tanwen squeezed again.

"Soseh," yelled Harry, "just do it! It's not worth your life." She nodded in pain. Still pinned, she raised her hand.

"Come here, Draco," she called weakly. Draco looked at Harry for reassurance.

"It's okay," he said. "She just needs to hold your hand." As Draco stepped cautiously beneath the dragon's breast, Harry twirled his wand in his fingers, despising the act he was now considering. It would be complicated. One wrong move and Soseh would die.

That's when he saw it, when Draco exposed his arm to Soseh. They both looked at him, telling him with their eyes to keep quiet. It was faint. The mark had not yet been set for Draco had not yet shown a dragon the necessary kindness, but the proximity with Tanwen made it glow white. There, upon his right forearm, was the outline of a dragon. Soseh had set it upon him when first she met him in Dakhil's cabin many months ago. _But why?_

"It is done," she said, feigning exhaustion.

"Come before me, Draco," Tanwen commanded. Draco obliged and stepped back to the spot where he previously stood. He bowed in deference.

"Good… good," said Tanwen with satisfaction. "Your time, at last, has come. You shall take your rightful place at my side as Primate of the Votary. Together we shall create a world of lasting peace. There are but two defilers in our way – the Fireballs of China. Help me defeat them and you may rule the Wizarding world as you choose."

"Seems reasonable," drawled Draco. "But you said _two_ adversaries."

"Yes, the other is here before you. I have heard from certain wizards that there is no love lost between you. Cut the ring from his hand and it is yours to control the Wizarding world."

"I see," said Draco slyly, sliding toward Harry with his wand drawn. Harry followed in kind, not sure what to expect. "This little black ring would give me all that?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"Total control of any witch or wizard?"

"Yes."

"The ability to manipulate all manner of creatures to my will?

"Yes!"

"Total power and world domination at my fingertips?"

"YES!"

Tanwen stepped forward in anticipation, releasing Soseh from her grasp. Harry's mother-in-law quickly rose and ran toward the cavern's great entrance out onto the mountain. Tanwen ignored her.

"I don't suppose you'll just hand it to me?" Draco asked Harry.

"I can't," he said with a shrug, now sensing Draco's intentions. A wave of nausea passed over him. Knowing what they were about to do, he was beginning to feel ill. It was against his oath to harm Tanwen and yet he had to. "The ring… it's stuck to my hand."

"Then, I guess, you'll have to give me your hand."

"Just kill him!" Tanwen roared impatiently. The cave echoed and fell silent. Then there was a rumbling that came from outside like rolling thunder. It was followed by a disturbance that they all felt. A sudden flash of perspiration appeared on Draco's forehead. Something had just elevated the temperature in the cavern by a good twenty degrees.

"Did you feel that?" Draco asked, suddenly concerned. "Who turned up the heat?"

The break in their conversation was enough for Harry to sense the others. A dozen voices form the Votary crying out and Talisan writhing in pain.

"We're being attacked!" he yelled. "Dragons!"

No sooner had he called the alarm than a fireball began to roll down from the entrance to the cavern. Using his wand, Harry stopped it before it could reach them.

"Soseh!" yelled Draco. He transformed into full vampire form and disappeared after her into the swirling smoke.

"Damn you, Tanwen!" Harry yelled bitterly. "I should have been outside! I could have stopped this!"

"The Fireballs," she muttered numbly. "They knew."

"You have your wish! A secret attack. Only… the dragon caught off guard is you!"

* * *

Author's Note: So I just edited this for the tenth time and I'm still finding issues. I surrender. It's up and posted. Forgive my ramblings, but they all needed to be in there... I think. I had been carrying the thread of Harry thinking he'd screwed his parent's lives around for quite some time, and I needed to put that to rest. That pushed the battle scene to the next chapter -- bonus!

Feel free to review... I get lonely sometimes. (does that sound pathetic enough?)


	57. The Birth of a New Sun

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 57 – The Birth of a New Sun**

**~~~***~~~**

At a podium set upon the large stone steppe just beneath the dragon rookery atop Ostrý Roháč, Arthur Weasley, Great Britain's Minister for Magic, stood before hundreds of wizards and other magical creatures to pay tribute to the dragon Singehorn for services to his country and to the Wizarding world. Beside him stood Jozef Schuster, Slovakia's Minister for Magic, who had just finished a stirring speech praising the role dragons play in the everyday lives of wizards and how important it was, as a sign of true international cooperation, that witches everywhere stop buying handbags made of dragonskin.

The steppe was ringed by a great grassy plane and in the grass sat dozens of dragons that had come from all parts of the globe. They were independent thinkers, some sceptical in the stability of this new peace, others confident that a new age was upon them. All were there to pay tribute to Singehorn. Unbeknownst to Harry, the leader of the Hungarian Horntails had worked tirelessly to forge an alliance with numerous other dragon clans that sought to find a peaceful coexistence with wizardom. It was the reason he had been travelling for so much of the year. Unfortunately, the alliance had not been originally large enough to sway the vote against the Chinese Fireball leader Ti-Lung. When the Hebridean Blacks joined Singehorn's cause, Ti-Lung did not take it well and chose to forgo honour. He chained Singehorn and continued his planned attack of the wizards over Hogsmeade. Talisan, Igneous, Tanwen and the others had come to Singehorn's aid and destroyed Ti-Lung and many of his followers.

It had been a bloody day, a terrible day for all dragonkind, but the dragons circling the stone steppe had chosen to use those memories as a means to move on toward a brighter tomorrow, while the new leader of the Chinese Fireballs, Ying-lung, had chosen to let the memories blacken his heart with hate toward the dragon that had mercilessly killed his sister in the sky over Terntalag – the new leader of the Hungarian Horntails, Tanwen.

As the speeches continued, neither dragon nor wizard knew that, at that very moment, above the top of the Horntail stronghold, eighteen Fireballs had descended upon Tanwen's sleeping chamber that they might destroy both her and the wielder of the _Black Ring of Death_, Harry Potter. If the Fireballs moved quickly and decapitated the Hungarian leadership and its wizard Primate, then there was a chance that the impartial dragons below would change their minds and join the Fireballs in an all out attack upon the unsuspecting gathering of wizards. Unable to Apparate, they would be utterly decimated. So was Ying-lung's plan of war and, as such plans often are, it was flawed from the start.

"I will not let this happen!" cried Tanwen as she rose on her haunches and flipped away from Harry and toward the large entrance to her cavern. Draco had just disappeared down that corridor in hot pursuit of Soseh, who had been Tanwen's prisoner only moments before. Soseh would surely have survived such small blasts of flame, but Draco, if he were unable to properly shield, would be ashes. The dragon reared up to fly out, but Harry called out to her and she hesitated.

"You can't go out there!" he yelled. "It's a trap. They're goading you to fly out. Then, once you do, they'll pounce on you and rip you open like a cat might a mouse.

"And why would I believe you?" she yelled. "Two minutes ago, I would have had you ripped open the same way!"

Harry ran around and in front of the large dragon. He could feel the warmth of the air bursting from her nostrils, the odour a mixture of oil and venison.

"Tanwen," he said gently. "You, more than any other, can see into my eyes and know my heart. Regardless of your deeds, I would not wish you harm in any way."

The dragon lowered her great eyes down in front of Harry's face. He saw tremendous sadness there as she began to realize what she had done. She had been consumed by her own anger and though she was beginning to see, pride blocked her vision.

While she stood silent, Harry took the moment to reach out with his mind to the other members of the Votary. They began to instantly communicate with each other, a dozen witches and wizards all speaking to various members at the same time. It was almost as bad as Christmas dinner at the Weasleys. Information of the activity outside was being passed, recommendations and requests were being made and Harry was being asked for the signal to counter attack.

Talisan had fallen from the sky and tumbled down the side of the mountain. Marek and another member, Ohmir, had gone to his aid. The dragons that had gathered in the grass about the stone steppe remained still, but the Horntails that were there had sensed something was wrong and were taking to the air to return to the top of the mountain. Katana was the only member of the Votary down at the ceremony, listening to the speeches. Harry sent word as to what she must do. She had been standing with Charlie and pulled him aside, letting him know what was happening.

"We must not begin a panic," she said, but Harry needs wizards in the air to create a periphery if they attack.

"Not let them panic?" he hissed under his breath. "We have to tell them what's going on!"

"No!" she insisted. "If the ceremony fails, then the Fireballs will have succeeded in at least one of their aims – there will be no peace between wizard and dragon. Harry asks for more time. Gather your best flyers and get into the air. Tell the people it's just part of the festivities."

Charlie kept clenching his right hand into a fist and releasing it. He didn't like where this could go. His eyes scanned the vast collection of dragons surrounding them. If they turned, it would be one gigantic wizard barbeque.

"Okay, I'll do it."

He made his way through the crowd, first whispering to Ron who glanced over at Katana and then nodded. Ron split off from Charlie and went another direction to find another flyer. And so the paths forked again and again until there were about twenty wizards making their way toward Katana with their brooms. Charlie was not one of them. Instead he headed up toward the podium near where his father sat. With the wave of a finger, he motioned for him to come over and Arthur obliged.

"What is it?" Mr. Weasley said, seeing the apprehension in his son's eyes. "What's wrong?" Charlie told him what he knew and what Harry's plans were. Arthur looked up toward the mountain top, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The sun had disappeared on the other side, casting a great shadow over the proceedings. Torches had been lit all about, though they were not yet needed. There was a chill in the air, but the late afternoon was quite peaceful. "Are you sure?"

"Dad, you should leave," said Charlie with concern. "If these other dragons decide to join the fray, we're dead. Shield charms will work for awhile, but the earth will surrender what magic it has and the dragons will still breathe fire."

"I thought you liked dragons, Charlie," said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile.

"I love them, dad. You know that. It's just—"

"Go do what you do best," interrupted Mr. Weasley. "And I'll do what I do best. Harry's right. There is a momentous opportunity at our fingertips. Many died because of the darkness Voldemort cast over our country. What irony to think that something so special could be born from such darkness. No, Charlie, I'll help to steady the gathering of wizards, if it is needed. Eighteen Fireballs out to murder us all and Harry doesn't want you to hurt any of them? All I have to do is to trade stories with a bunch of old government officials. Afterwards we'll have to compare notes to see who had the harder task."

Arthur winked and went back to sit down, shaking three or four hands along the way. Charlie turned to see that Katana had already sent the other wizards into the air. He looked back at his dad one more time and then shot into the sky to join the defence.

He climbed to where the others were gathered, hovering in a small section of the sky. High up on their brooms, the flyer's faces were lit by the setting sun as they all looked toward the mountaintop. Ron, who was hovering next to George, pointed at the flying Fireballs as Charlie approached.

"Look at 'em circle," he said. "They look like vultures."

"Two have seen us already," said Olga Fromstein, Chaser for the Heidelberg Harriers. "Yet they ignore us."

"They won't risk letting someone fly out of formation," said Charlie. "They're planning a firestorm like they used on Terntalag. Each dragon must be in the perfect location. Three nearly killed Harry. Eighteen…" He shook his head. "They'll turn the stone to lava."

"We can't just watch him get incinerated!" yelled Ron.

"He told us to stand back and guard the periphery. We can't start a battle. The Votary can handle it." Just then six or seven Horntails rose into the air from behind the walls protecting the rookery. Oddly, they did not fly directly at the Fireballs. Instead they chose a large loop about the mountain. They were quite conspicuous, perhaps dramatically so. When they flew near the wizards on brooms, it was clear to see that a number of the dragons had riders dressed in bright raiment. There was no way the Fireballs did not see them, but still they stayed in position, circling over Tanwen's cavern.

"Why aren't they fighting," asked George.

"Like I said, the Votary can—"

"Hello chaps."

Charlie turned to see Sirius hovering on a broom.

"Didn't think I wouldn't notice something's afoot?" asked Sirius with a smile. "Now, what festivity requires— oh my." He caught sight of the swirling dragons. "I don't recall seeing _'Fireballs Attack Horntail Stronghold'_ on the program.

"Harry's in there," said Ron with a tone that suggested Sirius should do something about it.

"Oooh," said Sirius with exagerated concern. "Eighteen against one? That can't be a good thing for the Fireballs now, can it?"

"But—"

"I'm sure he and the Horntails have things well in hand." He shifted nervously on his broom.

"Did you see the Horntail down there?" Ron asked, pointing toward Talisan. Marek was working with him. "He didn't handle it so— what in Hades name is that?" A giant was moving up from the bottom of the mountain.

"Florge," said George. He had spent enough time here during the last battle to know the locals. "He lives in the valley below. He's gonna be pissed when he finds out that his friend Talisan was hurt. If _we_ don't start something, and the Votary doesn't start something, I bet he will."

"We can't let that happen," said Charlie. "Whatever happens, don't let him past the stone walls." He began to order the flyers into position and prepared them for a battle he hoped would never come.

Through Marek's eyes, Harry saw the giant approach. He watched him scream in anger, seeing his friend hurt. The look of anguish was not unlike the expression now on Tanwen's face.

"I would have peace," she said sadly. "But we now have no choice."

"Peace?" asked Harry incredulously. "You let the word roll off your forked tongue like you mean it."

"I do."

"Words are easy," Tanwen. "One does not find peace when an adversary is at the gate by spitting fire at them." He rubbed his temples. Trying to stay in constant communication was beginning to tire him. "It's all I can do to stay in touch with the others. None wishes to hold back. They all want to attack. If that happens, Singehorn will have died in vain." He stepped back from the dragon.

"Let me go first. Let me talk to them. Maybe I can—" Harry sensed the anger flash in Tanwen's eyes immediately.

"You plan to escape! You wish to leave me here alone so they can attack and not harm you!"

"You're speaking madness!"

"No! It's clear to me now." The dragon's eyes were suddenly filled with rage. "You've been lying to me!"

"Stop! Summon them yourself!" Harry argued. "Listen to the Votary."

"Your puppets? Never!" she stepped back against the stone wall and began to mutter gibberish. "Wizards… dragons… they can't be trusted."

She stretched out her wings to launch toward the entrance. Harry held out his right hand and cried, "Stop!" The Ring of Onyx burned upon his finger as he held the dragon's will in his hand. She screamed in agony.

"Traitor! I knew… I knew… Let me go!"

Harry's heart was ripping apart. His whole arm trembled as tears began to cloud his eyes. He was breaking her, he knew that, but he had no choice. Soon, her will would be his. She'd be safe, but she would no longer be Tanwen. He wiped his eyes with his left arm.

"I can't let you commit suicide… I'm sorry."

His forearm began to burn and flash bright red. The dragon writhed upon his skin when, suddenly, the Viswa Vajra flashed bright upon his wrist. He was being summoned. That was clear, but the only one with that power was here before him. He shook his head and concentrated to bend Tanwen's mind. The mark of the dragon tightened upon his forearm. He knew this sensation, but it was impossible. Tanwen screamed again.

Then, a familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind. _"Harry."_

Unsure if it was a trick, he let his mind travel to the meeting place of the dragon. He was back in the forest where he had last stood with Tanwen in human form. It was as green and as beautiful as ever. The water of the falls tumbled over the rocks, soothing the soul, yet pulsing with power. There, upon the crystal bench, sat Singehorn. His broad face smiled and his yellow eyes glowed with happiness. His whole body seemed to shimmer with a bluish-white aura.

Harry ran over to him, dropped to his knees in the grass at the dragon's feet, reached his arms about him and hugged what he could of the massive man's frame. Singehorn returned the hug, ruffled Harry's hair and patted him on the back.

"Stand up! Stand up, Harry!" he said with a jovial smile. "Come," he tapped the crystal bench, "sit next to me."

"How is this possible?" Harry asked in disbelief. "You're… you're…"

"Dead?" asked Singehorn with a laugh. "Yes… and no. I'm not sure what I am, really. I feel… spread out, but something called to me – your anguish." He shifted uneasily on the bench. "I'm sorry, Harry. I should have known better."

"What? Tanwen?"

"Yes," Singehorn with a nod and then he shook his head. "I asked you to show her the path, to help her see the way to peace. I should have known that night, after she murdered the Fireballs, when it was not needed. Ti-Lung died in battle, but his children… Yes, Harry, it was murder. There was no need for butchery. They had been beaten. They would have returned to the east and, perhaps, they would not be outside your door now. I was wrong. Tanwen was lost to us that night."

"I tried," said Harry miserably. "I thought, maybe, she would listen. Now… I don't want to use my power like this, Singehorn."

"Nor should you have to. Release her."

"But if I do, they'll kill her. She's gone mad with rage. How many more must die?"

"I don't know, Harry. I don't know. But any dragon would rather have the chance to be set upon the stars, rather than be twisted by the Ring. Tanwen is a great and noble creature. She is no dog to be taught to obey. Let her go." Harry nodded and stood from the bench.

"Will I see you again?" he asked. Singehorn grinned and stood up, the bench groaning as it released his weight. His massive, clawed hand rested upon Harry's shoulder.

"I hope so, Harry." He faded and disappeared in a twinkling of light, leaving Harry alone by the falls. He hoped that, when it was over, he could return to this place. It was beautiful.

The scene changed to the stark stone of Tanwen's cavern. His arm was still held high and the dragon was still screaming. Harry was winning the battle to take control of her will. Trembling, he let go and dropped his arm. Tanwen roared and took off down the cavern, her large wings beating heavily to gain lift. At the last moment, not really thinking, Harry jumped and grabbed hold of one of the ridges that protruded out from the top of her tail. An instant later he was flying down the tunnel with her, his body being slammed against her scaled hide with each thrust of her wings.

He wasn't really sure why he grabbed on to her. Part of him just didn't want her to go, another wanted to protect her, but as they approached the entrance, he suddenly realised that his decision was a bad idea. In a moment they would be incinerated. He was bouncing so badly he couldn't reach his wand. There was no hope of casting a strong enough shield charm as he had done over the Forbidden Forest. Even if he had the wand, the shield wouldn't last, not with more than a dozen Fireballs preparing to create a firestorm. By the time he seriously considered letting go, they were too far off the ground.

"Igneous!" his mind cried out. That moment they burst forth from the mouth of the cavern.

"You dare to invade my lands!" roared Tanwen, he mind pressed on attacking Ying-lung directly. But he was much higher than the others and before she could think another thought, the firestorm began. It was as if a giant welding torch had just been ignited. Hoping that the Heart of Asha could contain such intense heat, he used it to pull the energy toward him. It was, at first, working, when all of a sudden two dragons above them screamed and fell from the formation.

On the ground below, the giant Florge had taken a massive stone and cast it into the sky at the collection of the Fireballs. There were so many, it wasn't hard to hit at least one and Florge has struck down two.

"Florge, no!" Harry yelled and then turning to the dragon carrying him higher and higher into the air he said, "Tanwen, stop this madness! Return now before all is lost!"

Singularly focussed on reaching and killing the leader of the Fireballs high above the rest she ignored the parasite on her back. Florge had managed to disrupt the firestorm, but two of the dragons were now turning toward him.

"Run!" Harry called out to the giant, but he just let loose another boulder. This time the dragons were ready. Fire erupted from their mouths and the stone exploded like a giant firework. In fact, with the sky darkening, the crowd below thought that that's what exactly it was. Harry could hear the distant sound of clapping. Another stone and another explosion. 'Ooohs!' and 'Aaaaahs!' sounded from the wizards below.

Tanwen pressed higher. She passed three Fireballs as they slashed and clawed at her. Her right wing suffered a bloody gash along its length, but she continued upward. Six Fireballs closed the gap she was trying to break through. Together, they breathed fire and Harry pulled the energy in with the stone, but their teeth and talons would be another matter.

Suddenly, they exploded apart. At first Harry thought it was another stone from Florge, but it wasn't. It was Igneous, crashing down on the dragons from on high. While the rest of the Horntails had spread out in a circle at eye level with the Fireballs, Igneous used the distraction to climb high above them. He waited for Harry's signal and plummeted downward like a peregrine falcon. The line of defence has been shattered and Tanwen continued to climb.

Now Ying-lung could be seen. Harry sensed his surprise, his worry. The Horntails on the outer perimeter began to move in when they saw some of the Fireballs begin to turn on Igneous. Harry could hear, but not see Florge cry out in pain from somewhere down below. The battle had begun. If left to play out it would surely spill over the mountain and down to the wizards and dragons below. Harry couldn't let that happen. He began to pull himself up on her back and, again, he considered the black ring upon his finger.

Tanwen was cunning and fast. Quick in the air, her teeth were as sharp as razors. If she reached Ying-lung, he would be killed. Of this, he was certain. Could the Horntails turn back the attack? Probably. But not without spilling more blood.

"Please Tanwen," he pleaded. "This is our last chance!"

"You summoned Igneous to come to my aid, didn't you?" she asked.

"Yes," said Harry, feeling miserable. "But he's hurt and they're going after him."

"Knowing you commanded it, the others shall follow his lead," she said. "I can feel their approach. I need only finish this last task! The battle is ours!"

Ying-lung, realizing he was about to meet his doom, chose not to run. Instead, he roared and rained a tremendous fire down on them. Only a few metres from her prey, Tanwen opened her jaws wide to snap at his neck. Before she could clamp down, a dark blur flashed in front of Harry and was upon Tanwen. She screamed in pain. At first, Harry thought it was a small dragon. He climbed further upon her back to get a better look and realized that the creature that had her by the throat was Draco Malfoy in vampire form.

The left side of his body was burned and his left wing looked somewhat withered, but he was stronger than Harry ever imagined, turning Tanwen's head with his bare hands and forcing her toward the ground. They began to slip downward, losing altitude when two Fireballs shot toward them. One grabbed Harry in its talons, pulling him away from her back and the other began to gnash at her right wing with his teeth.

There was a whistling sound as another boulder came up from above. Again Florge struck two dragons – the one attacking Tanwen and Tanwen herself. The sound of busting bones was clear as the boulder crashed into the Fireball and then knocked him into Tanwen. The force broke Draco loose, but not before Tanwen had the opportunity to snap at his leg, ripping it down the length with her teeth. Blood began to spray onto the ground as Draco tumbled downward.

The other Horntails were closing in and Harry, clasped tightly in the Fireball's clutches, saw three wizards on their brooms – Sirius, Ron and Charlie. Charlie had his wand at the ready, tailing the Fireball as it was lifting Harry up toward Ying-lung.

"What do you want me to do, Harry?" he asked.

"I… I don't know," Harry muttered, truly lost in the fog of war. In seconds the clash would begin. The Horntails had come to Tanwen's aid including the smallest of them all, little Tûzkár. The small dragon stepped out of the rookery stunned at what he was seeing. As he stood there, the largest of all the Fireballs, his eyes flaming red, shot down toward him.

In wizard years, Tûzkár was no more than a ten year old. He'd travelled with his father, Talisan, to Britain, but was sheltered the whole time. Now, his father was injured and the little dragon had been called. Harry could sense the dragon's fear, battling with his desire to help his father and the leader of the Horntails, Tanwen, who even now was falling like a rock from the sky.

The large Fireball, Shi-Le, was a great general in Ti-Lung's army. He had fought off many Wizarding attempts in China to take dragons from the Fireball rookery. He was old, far older than his appearance revealed, and he held no love for wizards of any kind. Plummeting toward Tûzkár, he began to blow a plume of fire and then, as if realizing what he was about to destroy, stopped. Stalling in his attempt to kill the child, he just hovered above Tûzkár, his massive wings darkening the sky above the small dragon. Harry could hear Shi-Le's thoughts. He was beginning to hate what they were doing, what they were becoming.

"Dragon, upon dragon," he muttered. "This is not what Ti-Lung wanted."

The rest of the Horntails arrived. Those without riders engaged the remaining Fireballs and began to slash and tear at each other. Antreas sat upon Casinius, the only green Horntail in the flight.

"Let us engage, Primate!" he yelled as Harry was being taken higher into the sky. If Harry was to play king in this Arthurian tail, Antreas would most certainly be his Lancelot. If the goal were to win the battle and destroy the Fireballs, Harry needed only to say the word.

"STAY BACK!" he yelled instead.

As Harry feared, the continued fighting did not go unnoticed by the wizards below. From this height, Harry could see a sea of people begin to mover toward them. A few had already made it above the ridge and stood in awe at the cause of the fireworks they had been seeing only moments earlier. They were not alone. A number of the dragons had risen into the sky. First upon the ridge stood Arthur Weasley, Katana at his side. As he implored the wizards, so too did Katana beg the dragons not to press into the fray.

"Sirius, keep them back!" Flying fast on his broom, Sirius broke away toward Arthur.

Ending their fall of hundreds of feet, Tanwen and the Fireball hit the ground with a sickening crack. Neither stirred upon the earth below, but the Fireballs were too busy to celebrate the moment. Dragonfire and hatred filled the air as they fought tooth, nail and breath against the Horntails. The dragon holding Harry presented him like a dead chicken to Ying-lung.

"Tell the Horntails to retreat and I will spare their lives as well as your own."

"And the other wizards on the mountain?" Harry asked.

"Join me in their destruction!"

Harry tilted his head to one side, almost as if her were considering the offer.

"I see below, your general, Shi-Le, is a dragon of great honour. He will not kill for the sake of killing. Such sport is for protection and for prey, no more. You know this! These precepts span the ages long before you were born. Singehorn—"

"We will no longer stand by while wizards treat us as dogs! Singehorn could not see the future as do we."

"If you follow this path, Ying-lung, your future is naught but death. You will be, as Tanwen below, but broken bones."

As the battle raged around them, Shi-Le roared sending a plume of flame into the air. Harry heard him call for help, although the translation was awkward. Still hovering above the frightened Tûzkár, he sure didn't look like he needed help. Suddenly, the dragons in the distance, which to this point had been independent, began to fly toward the fighting. As they moved out, the swarm of wizards beneath them broke over the mountain. With that, so did Harry's heart. It was over. Things were bad, but he had still held out hope. Now with all parties pressing forward, there was no hope to be had.

"You think your precious Singehorn so special?" Ying-lung yelled. "Your leader was false! Ask any Centaur. No new star has been born in the heavens since his passing into dust. The Truly Great Dragons know of his treachery and defy his ascension!"

"Singehorn only ever wanted peace. Peace between dragons, peace between wizards, peace among all—"

Harry stopped. The sea of wizards was breaking into groups spreading out like ants on the barren mountain landscape. One such group had already surrounded a fallen Fireball. He had expected to see them destroy it, but instead they were each holding out their wands, bathing it in blue light, attempting to heal its injuries. Another group was moving out toward Marek and the injured dragon, Talisan. A few moments later it became clear; Arthur Weasley was organizing a makeshift field army of healers, consisting of some of the finest wizards on earth.

The dragons, each from a different corner of the globe, pressed toward the dragon holding Harry and Ying-lung, then suddenly broke off guided by the Horntails and the members of the Votary who resisted the temptation to fight. Groups of a half-dozen or more clustered together, much like the wizards below, then intervened in each of the individual skirmishes raging across the sky, working together to pull the adversaries apart. It felt like an eternity until the fighting dragons turned their attention from each other and saw what was happening around them.

Arthur and Katana had reached Tanwen and the Fireball next to her. Harry could tell from Katana's heart that it did not look good for either dragon. Near the rookery, Shi-Le stood next to Tûzkár, his wing protecting the smaller dragon. They watched silently with sadness in their eyes, the sadness of an innocent child and the wisest among them. The fighting dragons, both Horntail and Fireball, ceased their battling and allowed themselves to be escorted to the ground.

"Is this what you fear Ying-lung?" asked Harry. "Singehorn's dream is coming true before your eyes. You need do nothing, but let it happen! We can stop the bloodshed now! The Fireballs are noble creatures and deserve a better ending than this."

Ying-lung moved toward Harry and held up a long sharp talon directly over his heart.

"It is but a pause, Primate. Your leader is beaten. If I destroy you know, there may be hope that the—"

There was a flash of purple light. When Harry opened his eyes, Ying-lung's front claws were bound and Draco was wrapped about the dragon's neck, his wand at Ying-lung's throat. The lower half of his body was caked in blood.

"Harry, tell the bastard to surrender, or I'll kill him! Assure him, even in my weakened state, I know how. I was taught by Dakhil Barghouti."

"I can hear you myself, young one," said Ying-lung with an almost pleased expression. "So _you_ are Dakhil's protégé. You remind me of him in many ways. A moment ago you saved my life, but now you wish to end it."

"I wish for you to surrender, nothing more."

Perhaps because his dragons had already stopped fighting, perhaps because he had other plans, Ying-lung withdrew his claw from Harry's chest and pulled in a great breath. Then, almost as if releasing a tremendous sigh, he exhaled a puff of white smoke that floated upward in the air. It was a signal to cease the attack.

"I knew before I came, Harry Potter," began Ying-lung, "that you would survive this night. I assumed the Seer's words meant that I would die on these grounds. I never dreamed… I'm beginning to believe the stories about you, Primate. Tell me, why do your people heal those that would destroy them?"

Harry's thoughts travelled instantly to Katana, who asked Arthur Weasley. Standing back from the healers working on Tanwen, he looked up at Harry and the others. His face was covered in ash and grime. He was at the bottom of a small valley and everyone was looking down on him. Haggard and yet energetic, he held his wand to his throat so that all could hear.

"Words, Harry," he said, his voice echoing both up and down the valley. "Just words. For the last three hours we've all been talking to each other about peace and the meaning of true cooperation. After awhile, I think we began to actually believe that it might be possible. But words… words are easy. Committing them to action… now there's the rub.

"We all questioned in our hearts what we might do when the moment came that tested those words. None of us dreamed it would come so quickly, but we are blessed that it did; for the words were fresh in our minds and the belief was earnest in our hearts.

"We have come to see the realization of Singehorn's dream, a truly great vision from a truly great dragon!"

Everyone cheered and the dragons roared and the earth moved. And then a rumbling of murmurs began from the wizards below as they looked up at Harry and Ying-lung.

"So be it," said the leader of the Fireballs. "We will seek peace with wizards!" There was another roar among the dragons. "To make that happen, Harry, I will need help to understand their ways." Draco released the bindings about the dragon's claws and relaxed his stranglehold, but not completely.

"You should begin your own Votary, Ying-lung," suggested Harry.

"My thoughts exactly," said the dragon, his eyes narrowing. "And I would start with the one who saved my life this very evening – the protégé of Dakhil Barghouti. The mark is already set upon him and I see that in his heart there is no great love for wizards, perhaps because he is no longer fully human."

"I'm human!" asserted Draco, but Ying-lung ignored him, speaking instead to Harry.

"Yet you, holder of the Heart of Asha, consider him a friend?"

"I do," said Harry. The murmuring below was growing louder. Perhaps they were anticipating what was about to happen.

"What say you, Draco Malfoy?" asked Ying-lung. "Do you think yourself brave enough to join with the Fireballs as we begin a new age?"

There was a pause as the general unease of the wizards and dragons below grew greater.

"Werewolves," said Draco. "What about werewolves? Would they be able to join this little club of ours?"

"Excellent… yes," said Ying-lung. "Let us see how truly willing the Wizarding world is to seek true cooperation among all of Earth's creatures."

"Very well," said Draco with a gravelled growl, releasing Ying-lung and taking to the air. It was clear by the laboured strokes of his wings that he was injured more than he was sharing. "We have an alliance."

Ying-lung breathed out and a flame of blue touched Draco's forehead. His body began to glow and, in mid-air, his human form could be seen, the mark upon his forearm wrapping higher until the dragon clawed upon his shoulder. The glow disappeared and Draco was a vampire again.

"Well that was—" he began, but short shrieks from below stopped him. People were pointing at them, but then Harry realized that they weren't pointing at them, but beyond them, higher into the sky. He turned to see; Draco and the others followed.

The swirling flame that had for so long filled the sky was spinning in on itself. It looked like a giant compressing galaxy with great glowing arms that swung out in long arcs of blue and red and gold. The whorls reminded Harry of the mark beneath the dragon on Patrick's arm – the rune of life, death and rebirth.

The glowing arms were slowly spinning, moving toward their centre which Harry knew to be in line with Mars, though the planet could not be seen through the great light building at the spiral's core.

Along with Ying-lung, the dragon holding Harry descended to the ground and released him as they stood their looking up at the celestial event unfolding before everyone's eyes. Tighter and tighter, the spiral accelerated inward upon itself. The centre grew brighter and brighter until, all at once, the light completely vanished, like some interstellar vacuum had sucked it all away. In the absence of the light, there hung the red planet Mars, the same familiar planet they all knew, but perhaps a bit dimmer than it had been these past many months. There was a beat… maybe two. And a pulse of blinding light flashed outward, dwarfing the light of all the others stars and filling the sky with one last roar of fire – a roar they all could hear. The mountain filled with shrieks, but the light diminished until a steady yellow ball of flame remained, brighter than the moon, but much smaller. It spread a new light upon the Earth, turning twilight to daylight once more.

"A new star," Ying-lung whispered. "Singehorn has been set upon the heavens and shines more brightly than all who went before. A Truly Great dragon."

"SINGEHORN!" the Horntails roared.

"SINGEHORN!" the valley and all its inhabitants echoed. Shi-Le, the eldest of the dragons there and the greatest general of the east, flew and lit upon the stone wall protecting the rookery.

"He has been born a star!" he called out. "The greatest star in the history of their births." All cheered. Harry held his hands together and fingered the Ring of Onyx. With it he spoke to all assembled in their own language.

"No! This is no mere star. It is the birth of a new sun!" he called out loudly. "It is a new light that now shines upon the Earth as a reminder of what was sacrificed that we might find peace among all our kinds. It is a beacon that will guide us to push back the darkness wherever it may lurk and bring forth the light of a new day!

"That new day begins now! The time for gazing at the heavens can wait. Let us now turn to one another and offer aid. Help the injured, feed the hungry. Let us set into action the words that have led us here."

At once dragons and wizards alike returned to the task of caring for the injured. Harry turned at once to help Tanwen, but Katana was already at his side. Together they had seen many deaths, but he had never seen her cry before now. He knew at once Tanwen was gone as was the Fireball at her side.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Arthur Weasley. "They had both passed before we arrived. There was nothing we could do." Harry nodded, but there was far too much work to be done to dwell on death. He spun back to Ying-lung who was already being tended to by Marek. Draco stood at his side, transformed back into human form, he looked more like overcooked hamburger meat than human. Ignoring his own injuries, Draco was locked in an intense, though silent, exchange with Ying-lung. A woman came running over to his aid. It was Soseh. Harry's heart leapt.

"You're alright!" he cried, running toward her, but she pushed him aside.

"Out of my way; out of my way!" she insisted, swerving past Harry to tend to Draco's injuries. It took a moment for Harry to realize that Sirius was trailing behind her, exhausted and out of breath and carrying a large satchel strapped over his shoulder.

"She's an old woman for Merlin's sake!" he panted. Harry laughed slapping him on the shoulder. He looked about by the light of the new sun and saw everyone working to help in whatever way they could. The stone stirred beneath his chest, filling itself on the positive energy. The moment Harry thought he might go to help another dragon, a group of wizards or dragons was already there to assist. He was smiling, wishing Gabriella were here to share this moment with him, when Draco called his name and not in a way that made Harry feel good.

"Potter!" he snapped. Harry turned and was amazed to see that his friend already looked more human than hamburger. The burns were nearly completely healed and continued to fade even as Draco's eyes grew more concerned. "Harry, we have to go!"

"Why?" Harry asked, stepping closer. "What's wr—"

"Oh no!" whispered Soseh, covering her mouth. She had seen Draco's thoughts before he shared them, and a look of fear was filling her eyes.

"Harry," said Draco, taking him by the arm. "Ying-lung says that the Fireballs did not just attack here. They came to destroy Tanwen and you and everything that belonged to you both." Harry shrugged.

"So. I don't have anything. Maia already took Gabriella from me. What possession—?" He stopped himself short. "Jamie… the castle," he whispered, his own eyes growing large. "Just today, Sirius gave me the castle.

"Ying-lung! Stop them!" Harry yelled. "Tell them to return!"

"I can't," said Ying-lung, his eyes truly pained. "The Seer said you would still be standing when the battle was done. I thought it meant that here we would be defeated. We knew of the ring you wear. It has the power to twist my will to your own. If I were to call them back, they would only think the battle here had been lost. Their orders were to destroy everything they could find, no matter what I might have them do."

"But my family is there!"

"I know."

* * *

Author's Note: Oh no! Not another cliffie! Okay, everyone raise your hand who knew it was coming. We're pushing well over half a million words now; you should know better. Not bad for the Title Chapter, though I doubt there were many surprises. Still, it had to be written, right? The good news is that there's another chapter coming your way. Some of you already knew that because you left a review. Did I mention I share secrets with my reviewers? All three of them. Do you feel left out? There's a way to fix that ;)


	58. Home at Last

Harry Potter and the Birth of a New Sun

**Chapter 5****8 – Home at Last**

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**A/N: ****A reminder… this story is a sequel to Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming. The two works are consistent with the HP canon of JKR up through book five. **

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_Why couldn't it have lasted __just a little longer?_ He wasn't sure if the crushing constriction about his chest was out of fear for his friends and family at the castle in Greece, or out of loss, having had his moment of joy snatched from his fingers. Other wizards were happy; he'd seen them. In fact, makeshift parties were beginning to break out all over the barren mountain – the most unlikely of celebratory sites. He could sense joy between the dragons and could hear their competitive roars toward the mountain top as both Horntail and Fireball began to pay tribute to their fallen. Harry could not pause to enjoy it. Now, with Gabriella gone, he wondered if he would ever be happy again. Perhaps it was one of life's great punishments, though he wasn't sure if he deserved it or not. Well… in the absence of happiness, there was always duty. That, at least, was something he could hold on to; something no one could tear from his hands.

"Harry, we have to go," Draco reiterated. "They may already be there."

Arthur Weasley, with panic rising in his voice, yelled for Ron to come join them. He explained what was happening, but Ron had trouble fathoming it. The Magpie Keeper could understand that there were dragons attacking Sirius' castle all right, but that the girls could be in any real danger just didn't make sense. After all, the castle belonged to one of the most powerful wizards he knew, the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Sirius?" Ron asked. His voice was tight and nervous. "Your protection charms… they're impenetrable. It took an army to break a few walls at Hogwarts. There's no way that a handful of dragons could harm your own home. Right? I mean, when it's your own home, the enchantments are just that much more powerful."

"True, Ron, but the castle is no longer mine. I handed it over to Harry this morning. We were supposed to set up the enchantments in Harry's name before we left, but in our haste… Well, the enchantments haven't been set."

"You heard Draco. We have to go!" snapped Harry, each word pinging like a drumbeat. "Ying-lung, when we get down the mountain, we'll Apparate to the castle. Thank you for sharing this knowledge with Draco, your new Primate. Please tell him anything you can that might turn your dragons back once we meet. I also ask that you send your swiftest Fireball. If your thoughts through Draco's presence are unable to convince them, perhaps one of their own kind can."

Ying-lung willingly agreed to Harry's requests. In their last moments on the mountain, Harry tried to organize the Votary as best he could. There was still a lot of damage, and not all the injured had been completely healed. Antreas was left in charge to oversee the others, but already many of the wizards were wandering off to celebrate since their services were no longer needed. The merriment had begun to spread across the mountainside and even the dragons roared with joy as Talisan took to the air. Yet sorrow hung in the air for the fallen and too much merriment might lead to its own problems. No matter, Antreas could handle it.

Harry, afraid that a large contingent of wizards descending upon the castle would make the dragons think it a battle, chose only a small group to return to Greece. According to Sirius, their strength at home would come from family, so the selection of those going was obvious – Harry, Ron and George because their loved ones were at risk, Sirius because it was once his home, and he was bloody brilliant with his wand, and Draco to speak with the Fireballs once they arrived.

"Send word when they're safe," said Arthur Weasley, kissing his sons good-bye. Torn with emotions of worry and elation, he wasn't sure what to say. "You were brilliant today! But, as this new sun still shines, the day's not over. Send word when you're ALL safe." He hugged them once more, including Harry and Draco and the group mounted their brooms. Before they left, he called out, "It's good to see my boys together. By the way, where's Fred? Did he even come?" Harry looked at Draco who looked at George who just shrugged.

"Don't know father. He's always been a bit of a slacker. Guess he just got… hung up."

The group had trouble stifling the smile, but Sirius assured Arthur that Fred was fine. In fact, as they found out on their way, he was more than fine. Just as they were about to cross out of Horntail lands, they passed over him making his was by foot up the side of the mountain. All the brooms had been taken from Dakhil's, or rather Draco's cabin and he was forced to climb, once Apparation was impossible. Draco was first to recognize the red-furred werewolf bounding up the mountain by the light of the new sun. A giant of a beast in his transformed state, Fred didn't seem to be having much trouble ascending the mountain in great leaps. Draco flew down to greet him, wondering what kind of reception he might receive. Never one to carry a grudge where a good prank was concerned, unless, of course, it was to get even, Fred transformed.

"You'll get yours soon enough, Malfoy," he sneered as his snout receded into his face. "You do know that, don't you?" Draco handed him freshly conjured robes without saying a word. "I'm just saying…" Fred hopped on Draco's broom and joined the rest in their flight south. It was only a few minutes before the group lit on the edge of the forest, a place from which they could Apparate.

"So, what'd I miss?" asked Fred. "Draco won't say a thing. Did the ceremony go okay? Did you see that star? What is that? Is it like… forever?"

Since Fred had insisted on going along, they had to give him a quick sketch of the situation before they Apparated. It didn't take long to get him up to speed, although half of him still thought it was some elaborate practical joke, while the other half wasn't sure.

"Ready?" asked Sirius. Everyone nodded. They each held up their wands, but couldn't Apparate.

"What?" asked Draco. "Are we still inside the Horntail's boundary?"

"No," assured Harry. "It's at least a hundred metres up the hill."

"Something's blocking the Apparation," said Sirius. "And it's powerful."

"What's that mean?"

"I don't know, Harry. Give me a minute."

Sirius held his wand and slowly moved it around. He was probing, trying to find the extent of the block, or any weakness it might have. A thin smile pursed his lips; he seemed to be enjoying the challenge.

"I couldn't have done better myself," he muttered, stepping a few feet forward.

"Got it!" he said at last. "Just to the south, near the beach. It's as close as I can get, and having water nearby might come in handy. Everyone follow my Apparation."

He disappeared with a _snap_. Ron went next and then George. Harry was hesitating, partly because he hated Apparation in the first place, but also because following an Apparation was tricky. The leader needed to get quickly out of the way as did each of the subsequent wizards, avoiding the wizards behind still to come. If not, the trailing wizard might Apparate right into the wizard in front. Being splinched with half your body inside of a wall or stone was bad enough. Two wizards splinched together almost never came out well. Of course, it didn't help that the more wizards that passed through the more likely you were to pass through, or in to one and Harry now found himself the last to go.

"Vision…" he whispered to himself nervously. It was the first time he'd actually said the words out loud in nearly a year. "Channel…" he continued. A doorway opened out onto the Mediterranean Sea, but the sky was flaming orange and red. Something was not right. He saw a spot just between Ron and George and stepped through. "Reconstruction," he said out loud as he arrived, a bit embarrassed to be looking like a sixth year student at Hogwarts.

No one was paying any attention anyway. They were surrounded by three dragons that were very angry that they couldn't penetrate the enchantment that had been set around the castle, the same enchantment that had blocked Sirius from Apparating directly in. Thwarted on that attempt, the opportunity to fry the freshly arrived wizards was now top on their 'To do' list. While the three turned their vitriol on the wizards, the fourth kept raining fire down over the top of the castle. Harry watched as the fire spread out high above the castle and fell to the sides, well clear of the walls, as if a giant umbrella or dome were protecting it.

As the fire flamed toward them, Sirius erected a shield charm protecting them for the time being. George and Ron ran toward the ocean and, using their wands and some fancy wrist movements, pulled water from the sea and sprayed it like a giant fire hose at the dragons. Fred and Draco transformed. Fred sprang around the side of the castle to see if he could find a way in, or at least a way to let Hermione know that they had arrived. Draco hoped that his non-wizard form would help with what he was about to say. It had been Ying-lung's suggestion. Harry joined Sirius and extended the shield charm to protect Draco as he rose to speak to the dragons.

"Why can't they penetrate the castle?" Ron called out over the sizzling spray of fire and water. "Cho and Hermione are great witches, but there's no way they could have erected an enchantment like that. It's huge! Four dragons… and it's not their home! What's going on?"

"I don't know, Ron," replied Sirius, as he and Harry struggled to maintain the shield about Draco. It was becoming more difficult as he rose higher in the air to meet the dragons. "Unless—"

One of the dragons shrieked. The Fireball had noticed Harry and the ring upon his finger. Without being attacked, it began to back away, fearful of what might happen.

"Come back here, coward!" cried the largest of the four dragons. He sent out another blast of flame, this time deliberately directed at Harry.

"_A brave move,"_ Harry thought. It was fortunate that he had no intention of harming the dragons, as long as it could be helped. Draco took the moment to speak as Harry used the stone of cinnabar to absorb the fire's energy.

"Chih-lung!" Draco called out to the large dragon. "Ying-lung sends word of a new peace!"

The remaining two dragons stopped, surprised at what they'd just heard.

"What devilry is this, Primate?" Chih-lung roared, but not to Draco, rather to Harry, the only _Primate_ he knew. Draco, beat his wings to fly higher, a bit unsteadily as he was not yet fully healed. If he rose too high, he would be out of the protection of Sirius and Harry below. Harry called out to warn him, but Draco ignored his pleas.

"I said," cried out Draco, and this time with a sense of command bestowed him by the leader of the Fireballs, "Ying-lung sends word of a new peace!" At this, the dragon over the castle stopped breathing fire and turned towards the flying vampire, now so high in the air a single breath of fire would destroy him. The deliberate vulnerability was noticed by Chih-lung who cast an untrusting glance at Harry and then back at the vampire before him.

"What peace?" asked the dragon sceptically, but with a tinge of hope in his words.

"I can see that you have heard him calling to you, Chih-lung," said Draco. "I know what you were told; that his mind would be twisted by the Black Ring, but see below! The Primate of the Horntails stands before you now and yet you still hear Ying-lung's pleas for your return. Come closer and I will show you what has happened." Draco held out his hand as Chih-lung, hesitantly, moved toward him. At last, Draco touched his forehead and a warm, yellow light radiated outward.

"The star you see above," said Draco proudly, "is no mere coincidence. It is Singehorn, ascended as a new sun, a new calling for peace among us all." The battle on the mountain revealed to him, Chih-lung slowly pulled away and looked longingly at the bright orb shining in the new day sky.

"Singehorn?" the dragon's mind whispered. The other dragons had all seen what Draco had shared and all knew what Chih-lung was thinking. If Singehorn had indeed ascended, then they had better pay him tribute along with all the other stars, if ever they were to ascend themselves. Whether it was out of frustration from having breathed fire for over an hour, a true willingness to embrace the new peace, or just pure self-serving interest in their own hope for some sort of afterlife, Harry didn't know, but all four Fireballs dropped together to the ground and paid tribute to the Truly Great Dragon now set in the heavens.

George, barely able to believe his eyes, stepped over and hugged Harry and Ron from behind. "We did it! Draco did it! Where's Fred?" he asked. "Why are we always looking for Fred?"

"He was trying to find a way in," said Harry, pointing to the west. "He followed the shore until he disappeared around the rocks."

"I will be your guide," continued Draco, kneeling before the dragons, "in these new times. At least, I will try. I have much to learn. For now, you must heed Ying-lung's call. Your kin need you. Not all survived this day. Fly north to celebrate and to mourn. I would join you, but even I must rest to heal." Chih-lung and the others nodded their heads, and with a deafening roar they rose up and disappeared through the gathering clouds. After they had left, Draco transformed back to wizard form and summoned his robes back into his hands.

"Those burns still need treatment, Draco," said Sirius. "Soseh's salves need time to work. You'll scar if you don't take some time to rest." Draco examined the blistered skin upon his shoulder and nodded.

"I'd rest," said Draco, staring straight at the castle's front door, "but the enchantment's still up. Ron, call your bloody wife and tell her— What the fuck?"

Fred, dressed in red Bermuda shorts and a green Hawaiian shirt, had just passed through the front doors and was walking toward them barefoot down the sandy stone steps. He had a sandwich in one hand and his wand in the other. He got to where the enchantment came down between him and his friends who were still stuck on the outside, and then tapped the shield with his wand. A wave of blue energy spread outward in all directions.

"What's the matter, Harry?" he said trying not to smile, but failing miserably. "Didn't you make the payments on this place? I hear the Greeks will repossess in a heartbeat. You know, if you need a galleon or two, I can always—"

"Drop the bloody enchantment, Fred!" cried Ron. "And where'd you get that sandwich?"

"He can't," said Sirius suddenly smiling himself. "No offence Fred," Sirius nodded to the redhead on the other side of the barrier, "but this was accomplished by more than you can master."

"Nom takem, Birius," answered Fred, mumbling with his mouth full.

"Only a great wizard, one who calls this home, could have created such a powerful enchantment."

"Jamie?" asked Harry. "He's not even—"

"Are you really that daft, Potter?" asked Fred, taking another bite on his sandwich and revealing that he hadn't quite yet fully transformed his canines.

Behind Fred, the ladies stepped out of the castle, each was smiling. Cho was holding Jamie, Hermione was holding her stomach, and Gabriella held her wand, waving it to drop the barrier.

"Gab?" Harry whispered to himself in disbelief. "Gabriella?" he yelled, running toward her.

Ignoring the welcoming hugs of the others around them, Harry and Gabriella embraced where the sand met the stone steps leading to the castle. He held her tight and swung her in his arms and they kissed again and again. For Harry, it had not been two days since she left and yet, in his heart, it seemed a lifetime. At last, he held her face in his hands and looked into her black eyes, ebon pools he could fall into.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Maia… she didn't—" It was then that he noticed something different. Her skin was darker, as if she'd been in the sun for weeks, maybe months, and, about her eyes, thin lines had appeared as if she'd aged ten years. "What happened?" he whispered gently touching the side of her face.

As Gabriella told it, not ten years had passed, but rather seven. What part of seven, she couldn't explain – past, present, or future, in this existence, or on another parallel earth, it was a mystery even to her. It wasn't until the setting of the second sun, as the stars began to spring forth into the night sky, that Gabriella finished telling the tale. Jamie had been put to bed and the young wizards, together with Sirius, were gathered about a bonfire near the ocean.

"It's fantastic," said Hermione snuggled in Ron's large arms. "When I used the Timeturner, Professor Dumbledore told me that I would still live those moments, still age, even though I returned to the exact time I left. I aged an additional four months that year. You Gabriella… it's incredible – seven years for seven seas."

"And not once did you come across a wizard or Muggle?" asked Cho who was seated next to George and holding his hand. A Wizarding wireless hung suspended next to her in the air, giving her a clear picture of Jamie sleeping in his bed.

"Never," replied Gabriella. "It was the ocean and all its creatures without mankind, untouched and undeveloped. I think it was a picture of what today might look like, if we started caring more for the world in which we live. At least, it felt that way. It was beautiful and fantastical and I learned more than most wizards learn in a lifetime, but… it was also quite lonely."

"I'm so sorry," said Harry, holding her in his arms much as Ron held Hermione, only his grip was somewhat tighter, almost as if he didn't want to ever release her again.

"No, my love," she said with fervour. "Don't be sorry. I spent seven years perfecting my craft with Maia. If not, I would never have been able to protect the castle as I did."

"It's a miracle is what it is," said Fred sitting in the sand next to Sirius and Draco. "It's like she knew. If you'd have been on the mountain with the rest of us…" He shook his head. "Who knows what would have happened. The Fireballs here were bad enough." He looked over admiringly at Draco. "I can't imagine facing over a dozen of them."

"Strength does not always lie in numbers, Fred," said Sirius rising to his feet. Something on the surf had caught his attention. "Give me the eight wizards gathered around this fire and I could… well, if I can sense it, Harry, I'm sure the Heart of Asha is throbbing under your skin with the love and loyalty gathered here." Sirius brushed the sand off his shorts, straightened his T-shirt, and then went over to investigate.

"That, erm, reminds me, Fred," said Draco, mindlessly drawing an outline of a dragon in the sand. "I was wondering… erm… I know it's kind of awkward, me being a vampire and all, but… erm… if maybe you'd like to—"

"Join the Votary of the Fireballs?" interrupted Fred. Draco looked up surprised. "Harry told me, you'd become a Primate," said Fred with a smile.

"Well… yeah," said Draco, his voice still a bit uncomfortable. "I mean, I would understand if you—"

"I would love to," said Fred. "But 'Votary' is a lame name. We'll have to come up with something better."

"Like the Fireball Fanatics," said George with a laugh.

"Yeah! Something like that," said Fred, looking at twisting the humour into a greater meaning. "You don't want wizards to think they can screw with us, you know?"

"Sure," said Draco leaning back and looking at the stars, a sense of happiness warming his face. "Fanatics!" The hair slid off his neck and fell behind him, revealing the two marks upon his neck. Quickly realizing, he sat upright and pulled the hair back over them to conceal the bite. Fred leaned over and brushed the hair back behind his neck.

"Don't," he said firmly, almost irritated by the gesture. "It's part of who you are. Don't be ashamed of it. I still can't vanish all the fur from my body and anybody who thinks that's a problem can go straight to Hades. Be proud you've turned those two marks into something grand, something spectacular. Draco, you're the bloody Primate of the Chinese Fireballs for Merlin's sake. Leader of the Fireball Fanatics! You don't need to give a shit about what anybody thinks!"

The group gave out a little cheer and George held up his bottle in a toast.

"To the Fanatics!" he called. "The worst smelling wizards the world has—"

"_Oooh!"_ said Hermione sharply.

"What… what is it?" asked Ron with concern.

"Just a little contraction, that's all. It's nothing to be worried about." She took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "There… all better," she whispered. Ron relaxed as she settled back into his arms.

"So," said Ron. "What do we call it? The new sun?"

"Well we can't call it the sun," said Fred, studying the bottom of his beer bottle. "That's already been taken."

"Singehorn is too long," offered Cho. "What about Singe?"

"See the setting singe!" said Fred; he snickered. "Try to say _that_ three times fast."

"It's Phobos, you know," said Gabriella. "When Ebyrth missed Mars, it passed by one of the brothers, Deimos, but made a star out of the other."

"Brothers?" asked Ron.

Deimos and Phobos were the sons of Ares… Mars. Deimos was the god of terror, and his brother Phobos of fear. They drove their father's chariot into battle spreading fear in their wake and routing the battlefield. The Centaurs believe that the Phantom took two brothers under his apprenticeship, two he would call his sons. Draco, you and Theodore, both brothers from the House of Slytherin, were his chosen ones, his Phobos and Deimos."

"Nott may have led the attack on Hogsmeade, but he isn't dead," said Draco.

"Nor is Deimos. Instead the moon must now endure watching, for all eternity, the shining star that is its brother and wonder what might have been, if only Deimos had been strong enough to reach for the light. At best, Deimos will only reflect a portion of the light Phobos radiates every moment. It is the power of love that you are now able to share, Draco, and the love that Ted has lost.

"Sounds like a Centaur tale," said Draco, unwilling to raise his eyes from the ground next to him as he continued to sketch dragons in the sand. "I don't know how much love I—"

"Who's that?" asked Cho, pointing at a redhead walking the beach with Sirius.

"Bistonis!" said Gabriella with surprise. "I've met her. She's spectacular. I watched her help form a great lake in North America."

"That had to be millions of years ago!" said Cho.

"It… it doesn't feel like it," said Gabriella crinkling her brow in thought as if trying to recall some distant memory. "Okay… maybe you're right. Maybe it was the Amazon in South America."

"We have some serious catching up to do," said Harry, pulling her in more closely. They watched as Sirius took Bistonis by the hand and disappeared behind the rocks along the beach. Maybe something was in the air, but Draco began to nervously tap his leg with his fingers.

"Erm… Fred," said Draco, taking to his feet. "We're almost out of beer. Want to help me go get some?" Fred looked down at the pile of empty bottles and then up at Draco and then over to the castle.

"Sure," he said with a shrug, rising to his feet. "I can give you a hand."

"Why don't you just con—" Harry began, before Gabriella poked him in the ribs.

"Why don't you just consider something we can snack on while you're there," Gabriella said.

"You bet," said Draco as he headed up toward the castle.

"We'll be back in a flash," said Fred, waving at the group and trailing after Draco.

"Sure you will," said George, rolling his eyes. "Merlin the boy is daft. It's hard to believe we share the same DNA. Harry, conjure some more beers. I don't want to wait, not for those two."

"I don't get it," said Ron. "What ever happened to Blaise?"

"He was helping Draco prepare for Narcissa's big Hogsmeade bash," said George. "They were over at Honeydukes having a soda and holding hands when Blaise's dad happened to walk in. Fred was there and saw the whole thing. Blaise pulled his hand away and then introduced Draco as if they were nothing more than classmates. When Mr. Zabini suggested that pureblood wizards should not consort with those of mixed blood, meaning vampires, Blaise just nodded."

"He didn't," said Gabriella, her hand over her mouth.

"I guess Ted is not alone in his lack of conviction," said Hermione, pressing the right side of her belly a little. It was clearly bothering her. "He'd rather sacrifice himself in a magical lake than tell his own father his true feelings."

"Some families are better at feelings than others," said Harry. "Draco's only just now learning to share with his mother. Maybe, one day, Blaise will find the same courage."

"You're right, Harry," said Cho, leaning forward in her chair and looking toward the castle. "Draco's a different wizard. Whatever Dakhil did to help him find his soul… I guess it worked. It's sad. Clearly, Blaise hurt him deeply. I never thought I'd say this, but I feel sorry for Draco."

"That's okay," said George, leaning forward with her. "On the way out of the store, Fred slashed the top of Blaise's hand with a werewolf claw and then welcomed him to the pack, flashing his canines."

"No!" said Ron. "Fred would never—"

"That's not enough to turn a wizard," asserted Hermione, taking a sip of her spiced tea.

"No, but Blaise doesn't know that," said George with satisfaction as he accepted one of the freshly conjured bottles of bear from Harry. Just as Harry levitated another bottle toward Cho, a drop of rain began to fall. Harry looked to the sky. The stars had disappeared.

"It's dark," he whispered.

"Light cannot _always_ prevail," said Gabriella. "Sometimes even the stars must rest."

"That's why we have my mate, Harry, here," said Ron as he looked to the sky. "Guardian of the masses!"

"There's a lot of anger out there, little brother," said George. "Even Harry needs some help."

"That reminds me of Neville," said Hermione. "I'm worried about him, about his anger. He never really has been the same since the battle. Ever since… you know – Nott and the others."

"Neville's heart is innocent and, at its core, pure. Someday that darkness will pass from him. I'd worry about Patrick," said Gabriella shrewdly. "Someone of such youth with the strength of a vampire and the wisdom to use it, wielding so much magic… Power like that can—"

"I'll watch out for Patrick," assured Harry.

"Listen to all of you!" chided Hermione. "The greatest day in the history of the Wizarding world and you're filled with stories portending doom and gloom. At last we will have an age of peace. I can't think of a better time to raise a child," She patted her tummy.

"Hermione, you should have been in Ravenclaw," said Cho, holding up her beer bottle in salute. She smiled, but the smile turned to a yawn.

"You are all staying here tonight, right?" Harry asked already knowing the answer, but figuring he'd best learn how to be a host and remind them they were welcome. It was the Potter castle now after all.

"Don't be silly," said Gabriella. "Of course they are! Cho's nearly falling asleep already."

"I am getting tired," she agreed.

"And there's a perfect room for you, George… at the far end of the castle," said Harry, lifting Gabriella up and taking to his feet.

Drip. Another drop of rain fell upon his forehead.

"Yeah," said George, lifting Cho up, much in the same way Harry lifted Gabriella. "Sure thing, Harry." He smiled, giving Cho's neck a little peck from behind. "I'm pretty tired too. Sleep sounds good."

"So, Harry" said Ron, sitting up with Hermione at his side. "I guess now we're _both_ married to older women."

"I always was older," said Gabriella.

"So was I," added Hermione.

"Well… I mean… you're more _experienced_ now," said Ron.

"I always was more experienced!" said Gabriella.

"Wait a second!" said Harry. "I could—"

"_Ayyyy!"_ said Hermione clenching her teeth. She began to pant through another rather strong contraction and then it released. Ron and Harry were pretty spun up about it, but Cho and Gabriella were as calm as ever. "Whew!" said Hermione. That was a strong one."

"Just a couple more weeks, Hermione," assured Cho, as Hermione began to stand, "and— oh my."

"What was that?" asked Ron, his voice rising. "What the bloody hell—"

"My water broke," said Hermione, a tinge of surprise in her voice. "I'm… erm… I…"

"You're going to have a baby," said Cho in a matter of fact tone. She waved her wand, vanishing the amniotic fluid. Suddenly, she wasn't quite so tired anymore.

"Come on, you two," Gabriella commanded, pointing at Harry and George. "Let's get her inside. We're not going to do this in the sand and rain."

"She can't… you can't… we can't have a baby. It's not time!" demanded Ron trailing behind them as they carried Hermione up the stone steps.

"Oh… I think it's time," said Hermione. "Here comes anoth— _Ayyyyy!"_

"Gab, get Sirius," said Harry as they stepped toward the castle doors. "We need a Healer."

"You don't need a Healer, dearest," said a woman with a warm and natural voice, opening the front doors. There stood Bistonis with Sirius at her side. How they slipped past them up to the castle, no one knew.

"Witches have been having babies for centuries without the advances of modern magic," she said. "Do you realize how much harm it does to have a baby teleported out of the womb? Bring her in here." She escorted them all into the front living room. The fire was burning as rain began to pelt the side of the house, streaking down the large glass windows. A small bed was already set up for Hermione. Sirius stepped in behind the beautiful redhead.

"Hermione," he said, taking her by the hand. "Everything will be fine. "Bistonis has delivered hundreds of babies."

"Dozens of my own," the nymph offered. "And most of them were human. Now, let's have some privacy, shall we?" Ron began to step out. "No! _You_ stay… and the ladies as well. Gabriella," Bistonis said with a smile, "you should see how this is done. I spoke with Soseh the other day and she said to me that…." George and Harry left with Sirius and shut the doors behind them. There was another scream.

"I'm glad I'm not a witch," whispered Harry. Suddenly, Fred and George appeared, wands drawn. Both were barefoot and Draco was wearing a green Hawaiian shirt. Harry pointed at Draco and then at Fred.

"Weren't _you_ wearing—?"

"It's Hermione," said Sirius calmly interrupting. "Their baby is on its way." Draco and Fred nodded knowingly and slipped their wands away. The five wizards moved into the kitchen to wait. Sirius started some coffee and they each took turns, drumming the table with their fingers.

"He won't say, you know?" said Fred, finally breaking the silence. "But he's still scared to death."

"No, he won't talk about it," snapped George in agreement. "But you don't help, constantly reminding him of what happened."

"No," said Fred sheepishly. "I guess I don't." He sighed.

"The baby will be fine," Sirius assured them all. "I'm sure, once they see—"

The doors opened and Gabriella walked out, tears streaming down her cheeks. She stepped over and pulled Harry tight toward her.

"What is it, Gab? What—"

"She's soooo beautiful!" she sobbed into Harry's neck. She sniffed and wiped her face. "A little angel with fiery red hair. Come on… but be quiet and be quick. Hermione needs to get some rest."

The young men walked in and found Hermione seated near the large fireplace with a suckling baby in her arms. The infant was wrapped in a blanket with only a tuft of red hair popping out on top. Ron was kneeling at her side, his hand placed gently over the infant's back. They watched as Bistonis held her hands over the baby and her family. A soft green light glowed and bathed them all.

"For the strength and conviction you have endured to bring love into this world, I bestow what blessings I am able that your lives be filled with joy and happiness." She smiled as the green light faded and walked over to Sirius, placing her arm about his waste.

"You've had the most fascinating life, Sirius Black," she said earnestly, leaning her head upon his shoulder as they stepped down the main corridor of the castle. "I knew when we first met, you'd be a thrill and you're not yet forty!"

"Well, I'm soon to be a dusty old Headmaster," said Sirius, kissing the top of her head. "Life for me is about to get quite boring." Bistonis laughed.

"I think not, Padfoot. I think not. Tell me what you know about goblins." Their steps faded away as they continued toward Sirius' chamber.

Listening to his godfather, Harry smiled as he watched George and Fred kiss their sister-in-law and hug their brother. Draco was about to leave when Hermione called to him.

"Get over here, Draco," she insisted, albeit with her eyes half closed. With her free arm she pulled him down and kissed his cheek. "We're more than friends… you know that don't you?" Draco nodded, but Hermione was unconvinced. "No! You're family. No matter what happens, we'll be there for you… all of us. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Hermione," said Draco with a smile as he kissed her cheek. "I understand. But that goes both ways." He glanced over at Fred. "I've learned being a vampire has its advantages. If ever the Weasley family requires my service, you need only say the word." They touched hands once more and then Draco stepped out of the living room with the twins, George telling Cho he'd check on the baby.

When Cho said she'd be out shortly, Harry noticed a tightening in her voice and looked over to her with concern. She was standing against one of the walls, her fingers brushing up against the stone. Harry knew immediately what it was and he went over to comfort her. A singular tear fell down the side of her face as Harry put his arm around her.

"Can you feel it, Harry?" she asked, still touching the stone. "He's here."

"Yes," whispered Harry. "I've never been in this room when I didn't sense Anthony's spirit. Not… not in a ghost sort of way, but rather in what he stood for. I sense his love, his loyalty, his passion for living life in the moment and squeezing every bit of that moment into his soul. I think that's why Bistonis picked this room rather than a sleeping chamber. She felt it too." He gave her a hug and then looked into her eyes. For a moment, he felt like dying.

"He- he loved you so much," Harry struggled to say. "I swear, if I could take that—"

"_Shhhh,"_ she whispered. "That moment has past and we have a far more precious moment in front of us." They moved over to the newest Weasley family member who was now resting on Hermione's shoulder. Two bright blue eyes twinkled in the firelight.

"Sorry, Hermione, but they're Ron's eyes."

"Thank Merlin for that," said Hermione, half asleep. "I hate my eyes."

"Your eyes are the most beautiful brown on the face of the earth," said Ron standing up to kiss her. "Sorry, Cho," he said with a smile, "but I'm partial." He kissed Hermione again. Gabriella looked around.

"I think the Weasley family needs a little better place to rest." She started waving her wand and the living room furniture began to transform into bedroom furniture. "There," she said with a pleased smile as the last bit of bedding folded neatly near the pillows. "If you need anything…"

"…anything at all," added Cho.

"We'll be happy to get it for you. For now, rest."

"Thank you, guys," said Ron, helping Hermione to bed. "You've been great."

"Well…" began Harry. "You say that now. Wait till you taste Sirius' cooking in the morning. If you want to sneak out early, I know this great little—"

"Come on," interrupted Gabriella. Cho had already started for her bedroom and Jamie. "Leave them to—"

"Wait!" said Harry suddenly stopping. "A name. Have you thought of a name?" Hermione smiled and then Ron, reading her thoughts, did as well.

"Molly Joy Weasley," he announced.

"Ahhhh," cooed Gabriella. "That's beautiful." Her eyes began to tear.

"Named after one of the finest witches that ever lived," whispered Harry. Instinctively, his hand made its way into his pocket and his fingers touched a faded and torn piece of parchment that never left his side.

"Yes. That's a beautiful name," he said quietly and swallowed hard. "Good-night."

Before they went to bed, Harry suddenly insisted he needed to look in on Jamie. He kissed his sleeping son's forehead and hugged Cho good-night. He glanced about with his eyes closed, but George was nowhere to be seen. Satisfied, he and Gabriella walked down the corridor to their own bedroom. The rain outside was as steady and as strong as ever. It would be their first night together in the castle. When Harry was building their bed chamber stone by stone, he often dreamed of that night, but never did those visions fall upon a night like this. At the time, he doubted if they'd ever have the chance to sleep in that room together, but the reapers had stayed their hands until another day. He sighed. They were the lucky ones.

"You miss her, don't you?" asked Gabriella. "Molly?"

"I miss them all, Gab – Dumbledore, Molly, Greg, Anthony, Tonks, Dakhil, Singehorn, Tanwen… Grigor… my god… I don't' even want to think how many. They didn't deserve to die, not on my account." Gabriella sighed as she opened the door to their room.

"I've had seven years to think about that very question, Harry. Why did it all happen? I think, seven years from now, you'll see that it was never really about you, Harry, anymore than it was about me, or Hermione, or Ron. Sure, you were the Chosen," she smiled, "but you were just one cog in a great machination that is life. Maybe a bigger cog than most, but the machine needs each piece to run properly. You played your part with compassion and love and that's all anybody can ask of you. If things don't end up the way you planned, talk to the toymaker, Harry, not the cogs."

She squeezed his hand and then slipped into the bathroom to get ready, but Harry just dropped his clothes at the foot of the bed and crawled in under the covers.

Drip.

The rain had stopped outside, but the roof still drained, bringing the familiar pinging of water into the pools that had formed between rock and mortar. It wasn't the same song he remembered from last year, but it was just as beautiful. He placed his hand flat upon the sheet next to him, the connubial ring glowing brightly as ever.

The door to the bathroom opened and shut. The flames in the torches went dark and Gabriella climbed in next to Harry, kissing his shoulder along the way.

"You taste like salt," she said.

"Seven years in the ocean and you think_ I_ taste like salt? Next time we're on the Mountain, I'll have the dragons use you as a salt lick! Then we'll see who tastes like salt!"

"We'll see who licks who!" she gripped a particular spot on the side of his waist and he began to laugh. They embraced, listening to the echoing pings of dripping water and the slow ebb and flow of the night air's breath as it warmly wheezed down the corridors of a castle filled with loving friends and family. She sighed.

Drip.

"Merlin, Harry, it's hard to believe the battle's over. I feel like our little fellowship has come to an end. Everyone's starting their own family, or going off to China," she chuckled. "We say we'll visit, but I can't imagine life letting that happen, at least not as often as we'd like." Harry stroked Gabriella's long black hair with his hand as she laid her head against his chest.

"Dumbledore once said that all things must come to an end. But that, just like Christmas, even after all the decorations have been put away into their boxes, the spirit of the holiday lives on in each of us.

"We may not visit each other as often as we'd like, Gabriella, but the memories of what we've accomplished together, just like holiday memories, will live on in each of us. We'll continue to hold each other in our thoughts, carrying a collective spirit that can only lead to greater things to come."

"Oh?" said Gabriella with a twinkle in her eye. "What sort of things?"

"I don't know… greater things!"

Drip.

Her fingers began to play about his bellybutton.

"_Big things?" _she asked playfully.

"Don't tell me you're thinking about _family_ things?" he asked nervously. Her hand tiptoed lower. "I mean… after… after all you've s-seen tonight, you're not thinking about trying t-to have a baby are you? You are?"

Having achieved her objective, Gabriella swung a leg over Harry's and sat upon his hips.

"Don't be silly," she said with a smile. "I'm not talking about a baby. Maia says we're destined to have twins."

She bent low and kissed him hard upon the lips ending all talk of the Wizarding world.

Drip.

~~~***~~~

_Finite Incantatem_


End file.
